


Across the Sea

by thejollypirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Long-Distance Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejollypirate/pseuds/thejollypirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unintentional, unpleasant  Killian Jones, lead singer and guitarist of The Ruthless Pirates, meets with the blonde stranger who is apparently his manager’s friend, doesn’t stop him from starting a special bond with her while he has the chance. Long distance relationship AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's not that he doesn't like being a hot-shot musician, he enjoys the thrill he feels, the buzz in his stomach or the nerves fluttering around. But what sucks is the lack of stability because of having to move around too often, never being able to stay in one place for any more than an entire week. It's difficult to do that, however fans are always enthusiastic and unbelievably passionate, and that enough helps him to get through the day.

 

His managers - yes, _plural_ \- David and Mary Margaret Nolan are quite the couple. And not just in terms of their representation of true love, but strength in their abilities of fulfilling their duties as his (technically, their) manager.

 

Whenever he's on stage performing with his band mates, he completely zones out to the music and does his own thing while he still coordinates accurately with the rest of the music being played. Killian Jones the guitar and lead singer extraordinaire in _The Ruthless Pirates_ is known worldwide for his sudden burst into the media for both his musical talent, and well, his dashingly handsome good looks. He's not blind, he sees the articles, magazines and other ridiculous stuff. Time to time he gets asked to attend photoshoots as well upon his manager's combined requests.

 

For the remainder of the week, he's to be stationed in Boston for one more concert at a venue before moving toward New York and then finally heading back to Dublin for a bit more. He does feel slightly homesick.

 

Though it's quite aggravating for him to be out in public. Paparazzi trying to follow him to places, even the bloody supermarket, for god's sake, and concealing his identity doesn't work that easily, especially with an Irish accent sticking out in the waves of other people. Today is one of those days for him. He's just trying to get by back to the tour bus so he can grab a couple of possessions before going back to the hotel until he gets mauled - _ambushed_ \- by a bunch of men and women with cameras.

 

Grumpily, he pulls his hood over his head and pushes past all of them, not in the mood to really deal with any of these irritating, persistent people. Not paying attention to where he's going, he knocks someone over and he hears a voice curse. Glancing down, he notices a fumble of blonde hair and a woman rubbing the back of her head, her eyes scrunched closed. Once her eyes open and make contact in his, he immediately loses his ability to speak. She's beautiful, he thinks to himself, gulping at the mere thought that this... this random woman on the street is making him feel things.

 

"Bloody hell! Sorry, lass," he exclaims, offering his hand to pull her up.

 

She seems as if she's just woken from a comatose, her lips slightly parted before she takes his hand and she's trembling, and he grins. "Wow - woah... you... you are Killian Jones."

 

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Aye, that I am. Apologies for pushing you over, the damned paparazzi aren't very caring in terms of giving me space." He's aware of the cameras that are probably surrounding him and her, feeling apologetic that she's getting this unwanted attention. "Look..."

 

"Emma. Emma Swan."

 

"Look, Swan, perhaps I should... well make it up to you for a cup of coffee." He leans forward to whisper, "Honestly, I want to get the hell away from these photographers, so do this for me, yeah? If you don't mind some attention on the front cover and on the news, that is."

 

He doesn't know what he's doing but when she sighs and shrugs, pointing her head toward the nearby coffee shop down the corner, he smiles appreciatively before following her toward it. He can still feel the burning gazes of men and women behind him or the stolen glances and giggling surrounding them as they walk next to each other.

 

When they're inside the coffee shop, he's glad that the blinds have been pulled down and that she guides him toward the furthest seat away from the views from the window. He plops down and sighs, pulling his hood off and running a hand through his hair, realizing it's already in a mess. "Apologies for dragging you into... well, this pile of spotlight."

 

She waves her hand dismissively. "It's... okay, I guess." She shrugs. "Not every day I get to meet the Killian Jones in person and get to help him."

 

He laughs, shaking his head gently. "Well I must say our meeting was less than pleasant," he says, "unfortunately."

 

"Unfortunately? What's that supposed to mean?"

 

She's responsive and there's a sense of attitude from her self-confidence. He likes that. "I didn't expect myself to run into a beautiful woman - which can I say, is very generous - on the discretion of people trying to get photos of me out in public. You have both my humble apology and thanks, Swan."

 

"Right, uh, yeah... no problem, Mr. Jones."

 

"Killian will do," he promptly corrects. "Do you still want to take me up on that coffee offer since we're already here? I promise it'll be nothing more than two friends having a cup."

 

"Friends? I'd hardly peg us to be at a stage of friends," she mutters, her eyes averted from his gaze. "I'm a fan, you're the famous guy, I don't know how that really works out, honestly."

 

"Love, I'm just as human as you are, and if fame from my own passions turns you away from building a platonic friendship, then that's very disappointing." He smirks, his feet accidentally kicking (not really accidental) hers under the small table separating them. "Unless you want a photo and something signed, then I'd label us to be at least acquaintances at the moment."

 

"I've heard you get all the ladies, but I've never heard you smooth talk like that before," she says teasingly, raising an eyebrow. She crosses her arms, the look on her face screaming contemplation. "Acquaintances sounds... good for now."

 

He laughs victoriously, her choice of words giving him slight leverage. "Ah, so you acknowledge our relationship as acquaintances sounds 'good for _now_.'"

 

"I've known you for less than ten minutes and I find you insufferable."

 

"And yet you've not decided to back up and run away," he says, leaning back in his chair as he glances toward the door of the coffee shop. "At least, most girls who meet me are nearly shedding tears of joy and wonder, but you, well, _you_ stutter adorably before you put up that strong bravado of yours. Impressive, love."

 

"Not your love." She pauses. "And I do _not_ stutter... adorably."

 

"Oh, _Princess_ , you most definitely do stutter. And sorry, _darling_ , it's merely the truth."

 

"God, if you weren't famous and if I didn't like your music, I would have punched you in the jaw and kneed you in the nuts by now." She huffs a breath. "I'm gonna get my coffee now."

 

.~.

 

He wishes he had spent more time with her but he had places to go to and he had to leave her behind.

 

And though he has her name, it's quite possibly the last time he'll ever see her. But she's different, she stands out, she's not just another face he catches in the hunch of a crowd huddled in front of the large stage, or the hundreds he swiftly passes when getting onto the tour bus from the end of the concert.

 

He's not sure why he's this attracted to her (little does he want to ever admit that), yet he finds his mind reminding him of blonde hair, green eyes and the brightest smile ever. In less than two hours (yes, they spent _two hours_ holding a conversation over coffee) - despite it was flirtatious bantering about 90% of the time - he's found interest in her and he can't fathom the idea he'll never - possibly never - see her again.

 

And he was dumb enough to leave without giving her a pass to her concert.

 

( _Only_ because she helped him out from the paparazzi.)

 

(That's bullshit.)

 

He sighs as he enters the hotel, running into a couple of fans here and there before heading up to his room. It's ridiculous how people can actually stand outside and wait for him to return or leave the building in order to catch a picture or sign something. Dedication is one thing, that's for sure.

 

There's a lack of rest as he stares up at the ceiling on the hotel bed, and every time he attempts to get some shuteye, he promptly gets an image of her ingrained into his head. If she wasn't so stubborn and infuriating and gorgeous it would have probably been easier for him to sleep by now. And for some reason, he always seems to recall the twinge of sadness in her eyes or the way she glares at him before answering one of his questions. She clearly doesn't trust easily; another wall.

 

Running a hand over his face, he groans before giving up on the idea of sleep, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and checking his phone for missed calls or messages.

 

Swiping his hand over the first message, it's from his manager.

 

_**David: What is with these pictures of you and this blonde girl that is very much one of my friends?** _

 

He rolls his eyes, tapping back a response to the to David. Though the idea of David knowing who Emma Swan is and never mentioning her to him irks him a little on the inside for no certain apparent reason. (Dumb excuse, he likes her... already.)

 

_**Killian: I ran into her while trying to escape the paparazzi and I offered her a coffee in order to pay her back for getting me out of there. Nothing else.** _

 

He doesn't even get time to set aside his phone before it vibrates with a response

 

_**David: Well there are already articles about your possible “romantic interest.”** _

 

Well, it is sort of the truth, but yet, who's he going to tell about a simple little... crush? God, a crush. It sounds ridiculous regardless of it being real, but David doesn't need to know any of that.

 

_**Killian: Ignore them, it'll pass, won't it?** _

__

_**David: The last thing you need is a scandal.** _

__

_**Killian: Believe me, Dave, I know.** _

 

He peeks out of the window from his hotel, noticing that it's beginning to rain and people are scurrying around on the streets without an umbrella. The concert is tomorrow evening, yet he's sitting here in his hotel room with nothing but a flat screen TV, a queen sized bed, and nothing to do.

 

Eyeing his guitar, he moves over to picks it up and begins to play nothing in particular, just going with the flow with a specific woman in mind.

 

.~.

 

He spends more time on the tour bus for awhile strumming his guitar and singing while Robin does harmonies. It goes like that for a while before David peeks through the door, telling them it's time to get ready for the concert. Nodding, he sets his own guitar aside before heading inside while keeping a casual conversation with Robin.

 

Robin's heard of all the stupid controversy about Emma too, and he curses paparazzi because for once, he'd like a little bit of privacy. Clearly that's rare to come by and impossible because of his fame.

 

And there's also a swarm of girls completely running him down in terms of questioning him.

 

He's got to apologize to her if he ever comes across her again because for all he knows, she could be hiding in the corner of her apartment refusing to go into the public because of all this dumb shame flooding over the media.

 

Changing into his addressed wardrobe and sticking the earpiece in his ears, he follows Robin and the rest toward the stage. He can already hear the crowd out there tonight, the loud chatter, laughter, screaming. Shaking his head, they do their pre-performance ritual which is literally them warming up their voices to a couple of songs before they pat each other on the back and run onto the stage, waving at all the fans.

 

It's dark, but the lights being forwarded towards the wave of people in front of him allows him to see everyone much more easily.

 

It's easy to play the guitar and sing, to be able to share and experience his passions for the rest of the world, to be able to bring joy and happiness to others, to have other people be capable of relating to the band's songs. They say he smiles a whole lot on stage, yet that doesn't surprise him. Of course he smiles a lot, it's fun and easy to get lost in the beat of the music or the flow of lyrics combining together song after song.

 

(It's even better when the fans sing along and sway to the music.)

 

They're not some punk rock band, but they're also not the typical targeting teenage girls boy band either. They're right in between, making music for any person to listen to. (Although getting into the Top 40 songs in America is quite the refresher, to be honest.)

 

Suddenly, his eyes latch onto a certain pair of green ones in the crowd and blonde hair and he immediately recognizes her. It'd be impossible not to recognize her anyways. He smiles, attempting to be sure not to target it toward her - otherwise everyone's going to trample over her later - and continues to sing the lyrics to their song, the words tumbling out of his mouth naturally.

 

By the end of the concert, the entire band bids everyone good night.

 

"Wow, you were _totally_ looking at that girl you met yesterday, mate," Robin teases, nudging him in the arm. "Look at that though, it's like fate brought you two together earlier and then you meet again. How _convenient_."

 

"Gods, don't put ideas into my head, Locksley," Killian mutters, pulling of his earpiece. "She's just a girl, an acquaintance. No need to make us sound like we're dating."

 

(He'd wish.)

 

"Right," Will drawls, throwing his arm around Killian's shoulders. "Don't ya think it's funny she didn't tell ya she was comin' to the show today?"

 

"She wasn't obligated to tell me of her attendance," he shoots back, shaking his head. "You two are making this a big deal for nothing."

 

"Because it is," Robin insists.

 

"What big deal?" David says, bursting the bubble of their little conversation. "Don't tell me this is about Emma."

 

"Oh, it definitely is," Will throws in, smirking like that moron he is. "The bloke hasn't been with a girl in forever and now he's got eyes for that friend of yours, Mr. Nolan. Funny, ain't it?"

 

"Not funny," David grumbles. "She's been in bad spots in her life - which includes uptight, dumb, boyfriends."

 

"You implying I am not boyfriend material, Dave?" He feigns offence, raising an eyebrow at his manager. Though he does wish to know more about the bad track she's had with men before, and well, possibly punch them if they broke her heart. "Besides, I am not going after your friend. However - should anything occur - whatever happens to us is as much as it is up to her as it is to me."

 

David scoffs. "Right, well... there are fans out there _dying_ for the meet and greet. You three should get yourself out there, and remember, don't talk so much otherwise we won't get through everyone."

 

"We're just trying to be friendly to all the fans," Robin reasons, siding up beside Killian. "Make their memories worthwhile."

 

"Be friendly but keep it _short_."

 

The three bandmates groan in unison before David shoves them toward the direction of the meet and greet, bypassing Mary Margaret who has her usual sweet smile that screams a warning as much as David has to verbally warn them.

 

.~.

 

Just as he's heading back to the bus, he catches Emma loitering around, talking to David with a smile on her face. Her eyes are shimmering under the light from the street lamps and he can't help but wonder about how someone could dare to harm a soul like her. She seems precious and too good to be true.

 

They both catch a sight of him and he instinctively waves with a smile on his face and they wave back. Originally, he was going to get back to the bus but then his plan changes when he decides to go up to them, remembering Mary Margaret had called for her husband.

 

"Dave, Mary Margaret was asking for you back at your bus."

 

"Huh? Alright," David says, glancing between the two of them. "I guess I don't really have to introduce you to each other... but hey, I'll call you later, Emma. And Killian, don't get in trouble with the paparazzi this time around."

 

He rolls his eyes, his head dipping down in slight embarrassment. "Aye, I know, mate."

 

He's lucky to have David and Mary Margaret as his band manager. They're not strict and rude and he's just glad enough that they'll be sticking around for a while. Plus, he benefits in return to know that he's friends with Emma Swan, the woman who's haunting his thoughts about 24/7. It's much to his demise - giving into selfishness - with his attraction and pull towards her.

 

Long distance relationships don't work, he knows that. Yet for some reason, she makes him want to try. As pointless as it may be, as much of a failure of an attempt as its outcome, he still has the want to try.

 

"And then there were two," she quietly mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

Discovering that is like knowing it's a defense mechanism on her part, something he's familiar with. Or he's completely over-thinking like the moron he can be sometimes. "Isn't that bad now, is it?"

 

She chuckles and he notices her shudder slightly, the cold breeze enough to break through the blue sweater she's wearing.

 

"Cold, love?" he asks.

 

She glares at him before she shrugs. "Just a little."

 

Grinning, he shrugs his leather jacket off and places it over her shoulders. "Take it." Although the breeze hitting his skin makes him slightly cold, it's nothing he can't endure, he's been through far worse. She's about to open her mouth to protest against him, her eyes dropping to the jacket wrapped around her, but she stops and his grin broadens. "I'm a gentleman, Swan."

 

She hums before she nods slowly. "You know I've gotten approached by, like, thirty people today asking me if you took me out for coffee?"

 

"Oh, really now?" He raises an eyebrow, curiosity getting the best of him. "Can you handle the pressure?"

 

"I mean, people are pretty nice about it." She drops her arms back to her sides. "Well," she drawls, "except for the one who makes crude comments. Not the best thing to experience, but I guess that's what happens when people start to know who you are."

 

"Believe me, Swan, it's jealousy talking."

 

"What's there to be jealous about? We're - uh - we're _not_ together."

 

He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets, his lips curling to a smile at her loss of words to form a coherent sentence. "It's not everyday Killian Jones, leader singer and guitarist of The Ruthless Pirates takes a pretty lass out for coffee in return of a favour." She nearly snorts at that, and he narrows his eyes. "What? I believe it's quite true."

 

"I don't know what goes on in that mind of yours, Jones, but keep dreaming, buddy."

 

"Oh, you've no idea, love."

 

They talk for another couple of minutes before she insists it's time for her to get going since it's getting late. He's more than happy to offer her a walk back to where she lives, and though he notices the reluctance in her eyes and the momentary pause in her response, she agrees to it anyways.

 

He figures it isn't a bold move to ask for her number by this point, promising to keep in contact with her because they're slowly getting to the point of being friends. He words it with his expansive vocabulary which causes her to roll her eyes and take his phone, inputting her number before handing it back to him. He stops in front of the apartment she lives in, bids her a good night and a possible see you soon, before she walks inside. A smile is plastered across his face the entire time and before he knows it, he's only in his black and blue plaid shirt and she's left him without his leather jacket.

 

It gives him all the more reason to have her visit him or for him to visit her. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head curtly before making his way back to the bus, the darkness and faint yellow light illuminating him as he walks down the sidewalk.

 

Albeit the curious glares he gets from his two other band mates by the time he's back inside the bus, he doesn't care.

 

Setting himself up for the night, he climbs into his bunk, pulling his phone out and sending a message to Emma.

 

_**Killian: It appears you've stolen my jacket, Swan. I'm gonna have to get that back some day. :)** _

__

_**Emma: Oh yeah? What if I wanted to keep it?** _

 

He laughs quietly, making sure not to be loud otherwise Robin and Will are going to pull his curtain open and demand for answers of what he's doing.

 

_**Killian: Then I suppose I'd let you keep it.** _

__

_**Emma: Really?** _

 

_**Killian: No, Swan, not at all.** _

__

_**Emma: Damn it. It's really warm and comfortable.** _

__

_**Killian: But honestly, keep it. I can always get myself another leather jacket as a replacement. Besides, I think it fits you quite well.** _

__

_**Emma: Why are you so nice to me? We still hardly know each other.** _

__

_**Killian: I'd consider us friends by now. And if not, perhaps we should change that some day?** _

 

When her response doesn't come for another couple of minutes, he wonders if he's scared her off with his statement, if he was too straightforward this time around. His screen eventually lights up and he swipes at the notification quickly, her response filling him with relief.

 

_**Emma: I'll hold you to that... and maybe, next time, let's not have cameras following us around and snapping pictures to spread rumours that we're dating.** _

__

_**Killian: Sorry, love, can't make promises I can't keep.** _

__

_**Emma: You suck.** _

__

_**Killian: Ah, so I've been told multiple times by this certain blonde who I accidentally ran into.** _

__

_**Emma: Good night, Jones.** _

 

His cheeks already hurt from smiling and he knows he should not be texting in the dark, it's not good for his eyes, despite his impeccable vision, but he'd make an exception for her. He's gotten her attention, he's enraptured by her to be quite frank, and he doesn't think there'll be much of an escape anymore.

 

He is _royally screwed_.

 

_**Killian: Good night, Emma.** _

 

Best to note down that it's the best sleep he's had in ages when he wakes up in a bloody bunk bed in the tour bus, even if the mattress below him itself isn't that bad quality. Will makes snarky comments about his good attitude and eventually Robin joins in on the fun of teasing him before he pours his coffee into a thermos and leaves the tour bus, heading back into the venue.

 

He doesn't know why he really does this, but he finds himself strolling through hallways, peeking past corners, exploring what the place has to offer. Perhaps it's just the fun and chance of visiting places one would hardly ever get to visit, or just the fact that he wants it to last in memory. Although most nights all bleed into one, he knows that his Boston trip will forever be his favourite because a certain person has made it all for him.

 

Holding his thermos of coffee in one hand, he pulls out the phone in the back pocket of his jeans and sends a friendly message.

 

_**Killian: Hope you have a splendid day. We leave Boston for New York today, don't miss me too much.** _

 

With that, he places the phone back where it was originally, turning hot on his heels to head back to the bus so he can go back to the hotel later and grab a couple of things and sign out of the place.

 

They leave later on in the day, may as well be prepared ahead of time.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Opinions? Just a little thing I'm starting because my muse wants it apparently.


	2. Chapter 2

There is hardly any proper stable connection while the ride is still going and that's frustrating, but luckily he has data and plenty of money to spend that on. Not that he wants to, but he's bored and Emma's keeping him company, and Liam is being a completely arse about the entire "who's the blonde girl?" scandal. No surprise on who he'd rather hold a conversation with there.

 

They hardly talk about anything important or specific. It's just a lot of playful arguing, debating about which bloody marvel hero is better and why. At some point in their messages, he lectures her about how she hasn't watched _The Godfather_ , and she bothers him about not having watched _The Princess Bride_ , and then they come up with a final compromise of watching the movies together one day to make up for the missing experience.

 

He nearly drops his phone when the bus hits a pothole, which causes Robin to bottle in his laughter at the way Killian saves his phone just in time. Giving him a sarcastic smile, he turns his attention back to his phone, a couple new messages from her about how the manager at the bar she sings at is having a bad go with some men because they're being persistent on… well the usual things a drunk man would do. Of course, he offers his advice and he can imagine her rolling her eyes and retaliating against it.

 

_**Killian: Save a song for me the next time I'm in Boston, yeah?** _

 

_**Emma: And when would that be?** _

 

_**Killian: I cannot predict the future, Swan, you'll just have to know when it happens.** _

 

He's not being an upset puppy about all of this - of course not - because he's missing her presence. She's always on his mind, somehow, but he doesn't find it in himself to complain about it. Albeit their lack of person-to-person contact and communication is unfairly dominant in this sprouting new friendship, he's found to already know that she's not one of those other pretty girls.

 

She has a past, which of course, is not something she's willing to discuss about. And that, well, that's perfectly fine. As he is a gentleman, he respects her privacy and won't pry for information out of her. That never works, it always fails and makes the circumstances worse.

 

"How much longer until we're in New York?"

 

"Another hour, that is, if traffic doesn't bite us back in the arse," Robin answers, doing the sudoku on the newspaper. He's like Liam. He likes sudoku, but Killian, he prefers the crossword puzzles instead. More literary than mathematical as he is. "How's talking with _Emma_?"

 

"Fantastic actually," he enthusiastically replies, grinning. He's going to give them the satisfaction of it all at some point, so may as well start and just let them run into his love life. "Perhaps you should find a woman you wouldn't mind keeping in contact with. They're quite helpful when you're on a bus full of annoying guys."

 

"Hey!" Robin exclaims, the paper making that obnoxious crinkling noise. "Not everyone is as good with woman as you are, Jones."

 

Casting a glance over at Robin, he shrugs. "Well, you should learn then. _Quite_ beneficial if you ask me."

 

"Right." Robin sighs, looking back down at the newspaper, lifting his pen back up to fill in a box with a number. "Does Liam know?"

 

"Aye," Killian murmurs, stuffing his phone into his pocket and bringing his feet up over the side of the sofa. "Well, he knows of the fact that we met under unpleasant circumstances. Not the entire, 'I have her phone number and we chat when we're bored' thing, though. I don't need him to trample over with his elderly advice - that I should chase after her."

 

Robin laughs and Killian notices him write a couple of numbers into the unoccupied boxes. "I wouldn't be surprised if he decided to fly here overnight to interrogate because of your new lady friend."

 

"Bloody hell, he'd definitely pull that move," Killian agrees, shutting his eyes. "Wake me up when we're there."

 

.~.

 

_**Emma: I heard you guys had a successful concert in NY. How was it?** _

 

_**Killian: Exciting. Exuberant. Exhausting.** _

 

_**Emma: Poor Killian Jones. And what's with all the words starting with an 'E?'** _

 

_**Killian: No clue, just felt like it was appropriate. And it's not good form to mock a man's misery, love.** _

 

_**Emma: Right, too bad... so uh, my friend Ruby, she has been bothering me about you lately.** _

 

He chuckles, flinging himself onto the much more comfortable hotel bed, the slight bounce throwing him off from typing.

 

_**Killian: Is she now? Do I need to send pictures of us signed to her?** _

 

_**Emma: Oh, god no. She just can't believe that I apparently know you. You'd be surprised at the amount of attention I get when some people recognize me as the "girl who Killian Jones pushed over on the street and then took out for coffee."** _

 

_**Killian: How many times do I need to apologize for all of that?** _

 

_**Emma: Dunno. Anyways, I'm handing my phone over to Ruby for two minutes. Entertain her for awhile.** _

 

And those five minutes he has with Miss Ruby Lucas is the weirdest thing he's ever had to deal with in his entire life of twenty-seven years. By the time Emma says she's back, she apologizes profusely for the lack of propriety from her friend. He simply shrugs it off, trying to ignore the odd remarks the other woman had made, leaving him to question a lot more about the friends Emma associates herself with.

 

The rest of the week passes by in a blur, all the days going by too quickly for him to even realize. His relationship between Emma is growing fast (he imagines it may be too fast for her) during all the leisure time he has. Sometimes, he'll Skype her - he just sits in front of the laptop camera, strumming his guitar to an old tune or well-known song, singing along. (Sometimes when she sings along too, her voice incredibly beautiful and emotion-provoking, he can't help but notice the pain behind certain lyrics.)

 

And it's interesting. Emma Swan plays the piano. (She's ridiculously good at it too.)

 

"Was the one thing I could manage to stay glued to," she says one day, shrugging as she turns to look at the grand piano sitting behind her apartment.

 

He doesn't question what that quite means. He still hardly knows anything about her past, nothing about her history, but whatever it is, it doesn't truly bother him as much as it may to others. Whoever she was isn't who she is now, and that's the last thing on his mind. She'll open up when she feels like it, and until then, he's going to do everything in his power to make sure he stays in a stable friendship with her.

 

(No matter how much he desires for more.)

 

Sometimes she'll message him in the middle of the nights (early, early mornings) stating she can't sleep. All he does - all he can really do - is talk to her back. Talk to her until the sun rises and until she's feeling better from whatever rough day she's had.

 

He figures out she's quite hard on herself, that she's persistent and picky with her efforts. That there are crude men out there who catcall her and frustrate her once they're drunk off their arses in the middle of the bar she performs in. It's not that he's mad about any of that (it's her life, her rules), he's just apparently protective as hell when it comes to her. Hearing the horrid stories being told from her side of the Skype call is always a handful and never much of a delight to either him or her. He can see the scowl or the occasional grimace of her face, the storm behind her eyes.

 

With her bad days come with her good, however. Seeing her happy, listening to her voice be chirpy and more thick of happiness, or even just a simple message about how she's been doing brightens up his day as well. He'll tell her the stories of amiable new greetings with fans, the presents and amazing work that the talented people in the fandom has brought in. It seems to make her smile just as much.

 

David seems to frequently have very subtle hints about Emma and his relationship, and he doesn't know why David's so insecure about building this bond. "She doesn't need to be under the spotlight," is David's shitty protest of a reason, but Killian rolls his eyes and shrugs it off. He may be his manager and his friend, but it doesn't give him the right to rule over what he does or doesn't want to do.

 

_**Emma: You're heading back to Dublin now that the tour's over, aren't you?** _

 

_**Killian: For a bit, yes. My, Swan, it's been over two months since we've actually seen each other.** _

 

_**Emma: Has it? Damn, that's been a while. I mean, our Skype calls and texting doesn't make it feel like it's been that long though. You distract me too much. You're a horrible influence.** _

 

_**Killian: I could say the same to you, darling.** _

 

_**Emma: You and your terms of endearment...** _

 

_**Killian: You don't ever complain about it anymore, love, so it gives me the right to call you by whatever.** _

 

_**Emma: You're right. I've gotten used to it. Anyways, I was thinking... I have a bit of money saved up. Maybe you could show me around Ireland.** _

 

He stares at the message blankly for a good couple of seconds, understanding that she wants to visit Ireland and that she wants him to be her... tour guide. Personal tour guide. Beyond flattered and excited, he taps away his response quickly.

 

_**Killian: Seriously, Swan? I'd be honoured!** _

 

_**Emma: Good. I'll tell you more details when I can. Right now, I need to get back to work.** _

 

_**Killian: Be safe.** _

 

_**Emma: I can handle myself.** _

 

Stubborn as she is, he sighs and shakes his head shamelessly at how far he's fallen for her in the little time he's gotten to bond with her. He's never going to admit it to anyone. Not Robin, Will, David, not even his own brother. And lastly, not even himself. The last thing he needs is to be in love with a woman while he spends so much time far away from her. (Distance sucks.)

 

For the next couple of weeks, he practically anticipates and waits for all possible messages from her regarding her and her trip to Ireland. He just doesn't expect a message in the middle of the day saying -

 

_**Emma: I may or may not be at the airport right now.** _

 

Really, he's going to get her back for having this sort of surprise on him. It doesn't take him long before he's out of his house (not too big or small, and has a beautiful view), jumping into his black BMW, making his way to the Dublin airport in record time.

 

He feels dumb for rushing, for feeling so ecstatic and enthusiastic about the fact Emma is here. That she's in his home country, that this is the place he's grown up at since the child, where his roots were first planted before everything took off.

 

At first it's weird. Seeing her after three months? It's like she hangs the stars for him, being her entire universe by this point - dumb, cliche, whatever - he just can't believe she's here in front of him. He doesn't know what to do, actually. But he thinks hugging is in the safe zone, so they hug and she doesn't push him away like she probably would have three months ago before they got so close. He offers to throw her suitcase in the back of the car as she gets into the passenger seat, and that's exactly what he does as the gentleman he is.

 

"Staying anywhere?" he asks as he slips into the driver's seat, clamping the door shut beside him and promptly turning the switch, the engine turning back on.

 

"I was hoping you could help with that, actually," she sheepishly responds, a tinge of pink staining her cheeks. "I'm tight on my budget."

 

"You could have just _asked_ , love," he teases. "I have a spare bedroom that should accommodate all of your needs, and if not, you can come barging into my bedroom any time to complain, darling."

 

"You _really_ suck," she mutters, keeping her eyes fixed on the view speeding by as he drives.

 

He chuckles, taking a left turn to exit. There isn't some snarky comments he's going to retaliate with at this point - it's just him taking in the fact that Emma Swan, full body in the flesh, is sitting in the seat next to him, less than arm's length away from him, and she's going to be staying with him for an amount of time. Plus, he's going to be the one showing her around.

 

At the moment, he doesn't think of the departure or the distance to be between them yet. He's just going to cherish what moments he has, relish every withholding second of their time spent.

 

.~.

 

"You live _here_?" she asks, her eyes blown wide as she surveys the house. "Really impressive, Jones."

 

He chuckles, shaking his head as he drags her suitcase into the house, closing the door behind him and kicking his shoes off, adjusting them to be properly aligned against the wall. "It's nothing really," he reasons softly, scratching behind his ear. "It's not even _that_ massive Swan, and the only reason I bought this house was because of the view -" he nods toward the double sliding glass doors to the backyard, "- back there. It's a sight to behold."

 

"I'll hold you up on that," she responds, slipping out of her shoes and setting them aside.. "Anyways. Spare bedroom? I should go get myself set up."

 

"How long are you staying?"

 

"So I sort of forgot that to mention I work for Ruby at the bar I sing at, and... she may or may not have given me an entire week off." She shrugs as if it's nothing. This is _everything_.

 

He's ecstatic to hear he has an entire week of Emma Swan to himself - selfish as it sounds - because any company is better than none. "That sounds fantastic, love. There are plenty of places to visit in Dublin, especially pubs."

 

"Lucky me, I get to experience some real Irish traditions." She smiles. "So, spare bedroom?"

 

He hums, turning toward the hallway that leads to all the bedrooms and the bathroom. "This way."

 

He pulls on the handle of her suitcase and he can hear her steps hitting the polished hardwood floors over the sound of rolling wheels. He grabs the doorknob and turns, pushing it open to the neatly, mostly untouched, bedroom that has a queen sized bed, closet space, and a desk with a chair for computer needs. Setting the suitcase at an appropriate spot, he finds her tracing her fingers along the wooden desk.

 

"Despite all the more modern exteriors, you seem to keep your sense of old-fashion," she observes in a quiet tone. "It feels... home-y." She pauses before correcting herself, "Or something."

 

There's a hesitance in her voice, a lack of realism when she mentions the term "home." Perhaps she's never found one yet, never had something to consider a home - even for a brief moment. His lips settle in a small frown, noticing how her eyes seem completely unfamiliar, the shade of green nullifying into something else. He's not sure what to do, not sure how to approach her without coming off too... rude, or protective.

 

He settles for asking, "Everything okay, Swan?"

 

Although she nods, it's not completely sincere as he'd expect.

 

"Emma, I just... well, I hope that if you ever find anything discomforting, that you're struggling or just need someone, I'm _here_. Millions of miles away or not." He tries to smile at first and he figures it fails. At least until she smiles and nods. "Good. Now, do you want to unpack your stuff? I can go whip up something in the kitchen if you'd like; you know, like food, or that hot cocoa with cinnamon you love."

 

"Yeah," she starts, "yeah that sounds great. Better give me the drink first because I honestly have no clue how long I'll manage before passing out because of this time zone change."

 

He laughs, shaking his head before he exits the room, heading toward the relatively large kitchen, going through the pantry to grab the powder. He fills up the kettle in order to boil some hot water. Meanwhile, he finds a mug for her in the cupboards, pouring the powder in and waiting for the hot water to be ready. It's minutes that pass by as he taps his fingers on the marble countertop, staring out toward the backyard and the covered pool, wondering how much time he'll be able to fit in with Emma.

 

The initial click from the kettle tells him that the water is ready, letting the hot water mix with the cocoa powder. And last of all is the cream and cinnamon, sprinkling it on top before moving back toward the spare bedroom.

 

Instead of finding her unpacking, he finds her suitcase propped open on the floor, some items of clothing removed from it obviously, and her sprawled on the bed, her eyes closed. The chuckle that escapes from his causes her to jump, a tint of red staining her cheeks in embarrassment. He knows of being tired, he is the one who performs constantly and has to deal with multiple time zone adjustments.

 

She mutters her thanks as he hands off the mug of her favourite drink, her fingers skimming over his before she wraps it around the handle. He tries to ignore the literal spark he feels when they make physical contact, hoping it's only temporary and nothing more. A pathetic attempt at most.

 

"You're exhausted, you should sleep," he suggests casually, glancing out the window from the spare bedroom, overlooking the sea view. "The tour can come later after you are _fully_ rested."

 

"Yet you promised to show me the view -"

 

He turns back to her, interrupting, "Which can wait."

 

She groans, lifting the mug back to her lips.

 

"I'd much rather have an alive and fully aware Emma Swan to show around instead of one who's half-awake," he coaxes. "Meanwhile, I can prepare myself a list of places to take you to. Savvy?"

 

Emma blankly stares at him for a bit before she nods in agreement, drinking the rest of her hot cocoa in silence, no longer protesting against the plan he's already developed. The good thing is that people and media in Dublin are not as bad as they are in America, making his life so much more easier, keeping him grounded here in Ireland because of less ruckus, and more carefree enjoyment.

 

It's only a matter of time before he'll have to introduce her to Liam while having to do a double-take in order to make sure his older brother doesn't scold him later on about women, this and that, blah blah... just the usual brother talk, despite that they're _both_ grown men who know what they're doing in life. Liam Jones operates the biggest tourism company in all of Ireland. Perhaps the rich and fame run in their blood, but it's not something either of them really care about.

 

Happiness and satisfaction is what the both of them aim for. Killian is happy with music and spreading his joy and talent with others and Liam enjoys sailing and showing tourists around the capital of Ireland.

 

She hands him the now empty mug, thanking him once again. He bobs his head with a small smile on his lips, wishing her a good rest before going back to the kitchen and washing out the mug in the sink. She calls from the hallway, asking where the washroom is and he shouts the directions back, hearing the close of the door notifying him that she's found it without a trouble in the world. He sighs, using a cloth to dry his hands before going to his bedroom which is located at the end of the hallway, leaving a crack of the door opened in case she needs any more help with anything.

 

He ponders around aimlessly while on his bed, thinking of the many places he can take her to. Just weighing all of these options is ridiculous because Dublin and it's surrounding outskirts have plenty to be shown off.

 

"Hey, Jones?"

 

He sits up on his bed, brushing his hair out of his face. "Yeah, Swan?"

 

"I can't sleep," she murmurs, rubbing her bare arms as if she's cold.

 

"A nightmare?"

 

"No, I just..." She sighs, shrugging.  "I dunno, actually."

 

He pats the empty spot on his bed. "Come here, love."

 

"Why?"

 

" _I_ am going to play the guitar and sing you a song that should lull you to sleep in no time." He grins, climbing out of his bed to grab his trusty old acoustic guitar. It seems worn-out, but it still does the job with it's great tunes. "You coming or not?" He cocks an eyebrow up before he watches her shuffle toward the bed, her being in a t-shirt and grey sweats.

 

"Relax, close your eyes, and listen to me, yeah?"

 

"Yeah, okay... I can do that," she whispers, dropping her head on his pillow.

 

Crossing his ankles over each other and propping the guitar on his lap, he begins playing a tune off his head, remembering a song that's been on his head recently. He may as well get it off his chest. (He most _definitely_ does _not_ relate this song with his current status with Emma.)

 

_It's been a long day without you my friend_

_And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again_

_We've come a long way from where we began_

_And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again_

_When I see you again_

 

He goes along with the song swimmingly, the vibration of the strings against his fingers, the lyrics bringing him along to the rapping part. It's not that much of rapping as he quietly recites the lyrics, the words coming out of him easily, his voice soft and gentle.

 

  _And what's small turn to a friendship_

_A friendship turn to a bond_

_And that bond will never be broken_

_The love will never get lost_

 

It's already obvious she's beginning to fall asleep, her breaths steady, her face relaxed. He smiles as he continues, playing through more of the song before he begins to reach the ending.

 

    _So let the light guide your way, yeah_

_Hold every memory as you go_

_And every road you take_

_Will always lead you home, home_

 

_It's been a long day without you my friend_

_And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again_

_We've come a long way from where we began_

_And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again_

_When I see you again_

 

After ending the song off, he quietly sets the guitar back on its stand in the corner before returning back to tuck her in properly. He really wants to kiss her forehead, or brush her hair out of her face, but he needs to resist the urge. He's nothing but a gentleman, a trustworthy friend, and he's not going to break their friendship by making an irrational move.

 

Quietly sighing, he contemplates over his options. He can take her back to the spare bedroom and risk waking her up, or he can just leave her in his bed and he can go do something else before he wants to sleep. The latter sounds more reasonable, so he quietly slips out of his bedroom, heading down the hallway, his socks making him slide across the wood.

 

Although the entire idea of having her in his bed is satisfying, he figures he can insinuate something later and just enjoy the fact that she's here, in his house, in Ireland, just for a visit. (At least that's what he believes it is.)

 

.~.

 

She wakes quickly, he realizes, when he's out on the patio outside, peering down at the clashing waters. He hears her footsteps from behind, the door sliding open, and it's literally early in the morning still (like, 1 AM early). Neither of them say anything, and he should be scared at how _comfortable_ this silence is, how established they are to the fact that words don't need to be spoken, that they don't feel weird around each other, despite the odd way they met and how they haven't spent that much time together in person.

 

After a couple more minutes of peace, he decides to break it. "Swan, you didn't happen to bring a swimsuit, did you?" he asks quietly, turning around to find her arms wrapped around herself.

 

"Unfortunately not," she answers, "didn't think I'd need it. Why?"

 

"Oh, I'll tell you later. Do you have clothes you wouldn't mind getting wet in?"

 

She raises a brow. "Uh, sure?"

 

He grins, taking her hand and tugging her back into the house. "Go get those clothes," he orders, sliding the door behind him to the backyard shut, "and wait for me by the car."

 

"Okay..." she breathes, noticing the confusion.

 

Quickly running into the washroom, he grabs two towels and slings it over his shoulder before slipping his sneakers on and reaching for his keys hanging on the key holder. The jingle of his keys accompany him to the car. The beep of the car allows him to open the door for her - "Gentleman, Swan," - to let her get into the passenger's seat.

 

Perhaps he wasn't the most subtle in terms of disguising what they're doing since he has two towels resting over his shoulder still, but she just huffs a laugh and shakes her head before he's got the engine running and backing out of the driveway toward the beach which is a five minute drive from his place.

 

By the time he's got the car parked and he's leading her down the steps onto the empty beach, the moonlight guiding their way, the splashing of water echoing in their ears, he's got her thrown over his shoulder and she's hitting him on the ass and threatening him to put her down, but he doesn't budge. _I'll show you fun_ , he promises in his head, _make it a worthwhile trip_.

 

He kicks his shoes off, the sand slipping in between his toes before she does the same after he sets her down. The towels fall off his shoulder and onto the sand, and just as she turns her body toward the water, he uses one arm and wraps it around her waist, hoisting her toward the water. It's cold, of course, but he's laughing and she's doing just the same, and this is the most fun he's had in ages. Let alone with a woman. A friend. Someone he actually likes.

 

They both try to get onto their feet the balance but the incoming waves heading toward shore keeps pushing them back down. They stick to the somewhat shallow water, but she sure has a thing for splashing him. He has to blink a couple of times before he jumps toward her, pushing her down with him.

 

"No one does that," he breathes out, "except you, apparently." He grins before pushing away the wet strands of hair sticking to her skin. "Fair warning that assaulting me with water doesn't end well."

 

"Thanks for telling me after I did it," she responds, punching him on the arm playfully. "God, this water is pretty cold."

 

"There will be ways to warm up later," he promises.

 

"Are you implying -"

 

"That we sit in front of the fireplace with a glass of rum later? Aye."

 

"More civilized than I thought," she mutters, rolling her eyes. "Though _this_ -" she turns around, her arms wide open, "- has been a great wake-up call, and welcome to Ireland. Thanks."

 

The sky is dark above them, but they're a good bit out from town and the stars are actually quite visible. After the fun is over, despite how much he was enjoying it, they go back to shore and he wraps her shoulders with one of the towels (the larger one) and he dries his head off before the rest of his body. His clothes are just as soaked as hers are, he tries to ignore the fact he can see her lingerie show through the white t-shirt, but he fails and he catches her staring. Embarrassed, he ducks his head before fishing the car keys from being buried in the sand.

 

She doesn't say anything when she first notices and he's glad she doesn't because he doesn't know what he'll say or do. For all he knows, his body will follow its own accord before he can conjure up something to say to her, looking like a complete idiot as he is. He's only a man though, he knows she's attractive - very - and she has a wonderful personality, everything any dream guy desires.

 

"Watch where your eyes go, _Jones_ ," she playfully warms, tugging the towel around her body more.

 

He chuckles, letting the tension fall short and his shoulders hunch. "Only admiring the very pleasant view, is all," he reasons with her. "Besides, I'd not have an issue if you'd be enjoying what you get to see courtesy of _me_."

 

Emma scoffs. "Is it even possible for you to stop inflating your own ego?"

 

"I'd say I'm only being self-confident." He grins, picking up his shoes and then nodding toward the direction of the car.

 

When they're back at the house, they both go to their respective rooms to change. He finds himself in the living room first, so he sets the fireplace up. The spark turns into a flame, and soon the warmth emitting from it heats his skin quite well. The room isn't properly lit, but the fire does a decent job at most, the tint of orange and yellow shadowing both of their faces.

 

She pads into the room and takes a seat on the rug carpet in front of the couch and he goes to the kitchen. "Whiskey or rum?" he asks, leaning over the counter.

 

"Your choice," she answers nonchalantly, letting her head hit the couch seat. "You take the pirate thing quite literally with rum."

 

"Well it certainly doesn't hurt," he says, grabbing two glasses and pouring some rum into the both of them. He heads back with the two glasses, handing her one of them before he sits down next to her. "Feeling warmer?"

 

Emma nods as she takes a sip. "Wow, that's... strong," she mutters, licking her lips. "Don't tell me you drink this stuff often."

 

Shrugging, he takes his own drink. "Occasionally," he vaguely answers, having nothing else to supply her with. "I promise I'm not an alcoholic, Swan. Only at parties and the irregular stress reliever."

 

"Same here."

 

"Look at that, it seems that we have more in similar than we thought." He watches the crackling fire in front of him, going over to poke at it with the fire iron before dropping back down next to her. "Tomorrow, I'm going to ask my brother of a favour just for you, love. We're going to make the rest of this trip the best one you've ever been on."

 

"Your brother... Liam? What does he have to do with any of this?" she asks, her lips connecting the the glass again.

 

He crosses his ankles over each other. "I forgot to mention he owns the biggest tourism company in Ireland," he humbly explains, shrugging casually. "I've actually got something in plan already, I think it's going to go quite well, too. How do you feel about ships?"

 

"Ships? Are you _seriously_ not a pirate?"

 

"Maybe a little," he says, smiling a little. "Because we may take a quick trip on one later on in the week. I'll just have my brother organize it for us and we can go out - just you and I. How does that sound?"

 

"Sounds like... a date." She chuckles, draining the remainder of her rum. "But honestly? Sounds cool with me."

 

"Well," he drawls, "if you want it to be, that can be arranged."

 

She groans, letting her head fall back again. "I should've kept my mouth shut. Not a date. I take that back."

 

He hums (wishing it was a date). "As you wish."

 

"And you haven't watched _The Princess Bride_ either, yet you recite a signature line from the movie," she mutters. "I don't know how that works, but I'm just going to say we're gonna have to watch that soon."

 

A good half an hour later, her head is on his shoulder and she's worn out, her breaths long and steady. He sighs quietly, reaching over on the couch, gathering the blanket that's been sitting there for a good week, draping it over her considerately. He still _aches_ to gather her in his arms, to kiss her, to do _anything_ else, but she's begun to let her walls down slowly for him, he's got a peek of the carefree Emma Swan who isn't tense and concerned about what she does or what she's done before. He’s not up to upset her and ruin what they have now.

 

He smiles as he watches her sleeping form and he _really_ doesn't want to move from his spot with her head resting on his shoulder, he doesn't want to disrupt her from her sleep. The fire is dying down in front of them, and it's three in the morning. He yawns before he finally settles into sleep, the upcoming activities making him anticipate in a childish fashion.

 

The rest of the day will come faster now that he's asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get even _better_ for these two by the next chapter (for the most part), I think I'm not exactly giving my friends the ability to breathe properly.


	3. Chapter 3

She wakes up first in the morning and shakes his shoulder, whispering into his ear for him to get up. It's a good time past 10:30 AM by the time he cracks an eye open to find her gazing down at him, her green eyes waking him up.

 

"Good morning, _sunshine_ ," she teases, a smile dancing on her lips.

 

He purses his lips, narrowing his eyes before he reaches forward and wraps his fingers around her waist, pulling her down, noticing her immediate flinching. Oh? he wonders, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. "Swan... are you _ticklish_?"

 

"What? No," she quickly deflects, pulling herself away from his grip.

 

He laughs, pushing himself up before he reaches for her and she begins to run. "You are!" he exclaims, biting his lower lip with a big grin, following after her. "Love, come back here."

 

"No, screw you, Jones," she curses, propping herself behind the kitchen counter. "Don't you _dare_ touch me."

 

He pouts. "You're quite aggravated by the fact you're ticklish - must it be that bad of a weakness? I promise not to tell anyone."

 

She shoots him a glare like it's an impending death, and he brings his hands up in defeat. Although he has no intention of letting this new profound secret go, he's going to tickle her the moment he gets the chance. She finally lets go and rounds the corner of the kitchen counter-wall that closes off the kitchen from the living room, and at the best possible chance where her guard is down, he moves behind her.

 

His fingers burn from touching her because whatever it is, he can't get enough of the contact between them. She tries to push herself away from his grip, but he's got his arms encircled around her and he accidentally falls forward, pinning her down onto the couch.

 

"Get off of me," she demands, her voice muffled by the cushion. "I will use my suitcase as weapon if I have to," she threatens, turning around under his cage.

 

There's a certain sense that he'll eventually believe those words one day, but he knows it's just bickering and empty threats. "You know I had expected to have a woman under me on much more physically exerting circumstances, not tickling," he taunts, his voice dripping with insinuation that she clearly gets annoyed from. "But I suppose this is better than nothing."

 

When his fingers begin to work at her sides again, she starts to squirm under him.

 

He ignores the fact that they're so bloody close together, and he manages to somehow because about fifteen minutes later, he's no longer on top of her but in the kitchen making breakfast that has been long overdue by now. She's fresh out of the shower and he can smell some flowery faint scent even over the steaming mug of hot cocoa and the pancakes he's setting on to plates.

 

"That my drink?"

 

He nods, handing her a plate of two pancakes. "Syrup is in the fridge along with butter if you'd like."

 

Gathering up his breakfast, he sets the pan into the sink for now and goes to eat, taking his plate in one hand and a mug of coffee in another. They discuss plans for the day and he tells her he's going to call up Liam first to figure some things out, then he'll take her to places all around Dublin. She offers to wash the dishes and of course he refuses to let his honorary guest do the dishes, but she insists to considering he's already done and is still doing so much for her.

 

Part of him wants to kiss her there without having to worry about what others think. Well, that is another issue to think about. Although there is no stalking paparazzi around Ireland, there are plenty of people who recognize him since it is the capital of the country. And besides, media is going to blow up either way if they're caught standing within arms range.

 

The afternoon sun is low by the time they're both out of the house. He still has sunglasses on anyways and their shoulders occasionally brush, and their hands make brief contact. Forgetting about any of that, he points toward some buildings and landmarks. Going to one of the pubs would be an option, but neither of them are really up for a drink, so they settle on the tourism part.

 

They have a booking with at Kilmainham Gaol, courtesy of Liam and his quick assistance. He's yet to tease him too much about the details of his new friend and he's glad on that part so far.

 

"This place gives me the chills," she murmurs, glancing around.

 

He chuckles. "Well, this place _was_ a prison established in the 1970s."

 

"Explains the creepy vibe I get. But the architecture is still really nice," she comments, falling in steps with his pace.

 

"You must be aware that Ireland had fought for independence from England?" She nods. "Well, Kilmainham is - as you can tell - a former prison which was known for incarcerating the rebellious leaders from the Irish Revolution - mainly Republicans - I think."

 

He explains a little bit more, though there's not a lot for him to say since he doesn't know everything. After about an hour of discovery and looking at the artifacts sitting around in the museum (he has to admit, reading those letters before execution made him uneasy), he takes her to one more place, somewhere far less eerie and more natural.

 

Merrion Square is a beautiful place, at least that's what he thinks. "The Heart of Georgian Dublin," he announces, "at least that's what they all say."

 

She laughs at him and he glares at her before her laughter quiets down and they walk around the streets and finally into the park.

 

"You do not get this type of stuff in Boston," she complains.

 

"No. No, you don't," he agrees, shrugging. "Hence why I'm bringing you to these places."

 

He watches her tongue slip between her lips and her hand rest on his forearm. He watches her smile softly at him and whispers her thanks. He blinks in disbelief at her sudden sincerity before the edge of his lips curl up into a smile and he mumbles some dumb reply which results in her rolling her eyes and shoving him back gently.

 

Some people seem to finally notice him and he sends an apologetic look to Emma before he takes a picture with some fans. They all have smiles plastered across their faces, all of them having trouble to apparently form words. People tend to forget he's just as human too, that they can talk to him as if they just met instead of seemingly hyperventilating and losing their cool.

 

After everything is done, he says goodbye before pulling Emma along with him back to the car. "We're going to go get a drink... and food if you want that."

 

She glares at him for a moment before she gets into the car. "Where to?

 

" _Stag's Head_ ," he answers, turning the keys. "It's an Irish pub," he elaborates a bit more.

 

.~.

 

Everything is beyond great and he's been the happiest he's been in years. Meeting Emma Swan and befriending her has been the best thing to happen in his life.

 

It's almost 5PM and she's already pretty exhausted. Even the food they just ate wasn't enough to keep her up much longer. The walk back to the car she nearly tripped and he had to wrap an arm around her waist quickly to keep her from the fall. The rest of that walk wasn't the most pleasant of them all, of course.

 

Now, he's driving back to the house. Day one is down. Six more to go.

 

"I think my jet lag is catching up now," she mutters in complaint, her head against the glass window.

 

He glances over at her until turning back to the road, quickly pulling onto the driveway of the house. "Unfortunate but unavoidable apparently," he remarks, turning off the engine. "Come on, Swan, you can sleep inside."

 

"Mkay," she mumbles, unbuckling her seatbelt slowly and swinging the door open.

 

He has to quickly get himself out and to the other side, taking an and throwing it around his shoulders to keep her upright. He grunts as he kicks the car door shut and locking it, moving up the pathway to the front door. He realizes that Liam is here when he's inside, noticing his shoes aligned and his feet slung over the couch arms.

 

"Well look at that!" Liam exclaims, jumping up from couch and moving toward them. "She seems out."

 

"Practically," Killian grunts. "Hold on, let me get her to bed. Love, let's go."

 

"Okay, okay, I'm going," she hisses.

 

He can hear Liam's echoing laughter as he shuffles down the hallway and into the spare bedroom, thoughtfully letting her sit down. When he goes to take off her leather jacket and boots, she watches him intently, almost seeing confusion and _fear_ flash before her eyes, but it's gone before he can catch anything else. He can tell she's used to not being put first, not being taken care of so fondly. But he's here to prove her wrong, to show her that he'll do whatever for her because he -

 

Stop the thoughts, Jones, he scolds in his mind, setting her boots aside. "Sleep, love," he finally murmurs, standing up and straightening the back of his shirt.

 

"Thanks." She sighs and gets herself tucked into bed.

 

"You know where to find me if you need anything. Meanwhile, I've got an older brother to kick out."

 

She laughs at that and a grin slowly spreads across his face as he leaves her room, closing the door behind him as he travels back south toward the living room. Liam is pouring himself a glass of water in the kitchen since he hears the tap running.

 

"What're you doing here?"

 

"Couldn't not see the person my little brother has been hanging out with," Liam says, reentering the living room with the clear liquid in his glass. "And she is much more prettier than I thought."

 

Killian groans, rolling his eyes at the straightforwardness of his older brother. "Aye, she is a pretty lass, but what's it to you? You're a married man with a child, don't tell me to take her out on a date or something."

 

"That is true," Liam chirps, "but I'm just looking out for you. You need to settle down soon, don't you?"

 

"I'm only twenty-seven, Liam, I still have time," Killian reasons with him, shrugging off his leather jacket and throwing it onto the loveseat next to the couch. "Besides, she's a friend  and I'm not going to ruin what we have," he explains. "You'd be surprised how difficult it was to get through to her at first though, she's a stubborn woman."

 

"And you know a stubborn woman is worth keeping because you can fight for them," Liam drawls, sitting down on the arm of the couch. "I would know that."

 

"You would because Elsa can be bloody stubborn sometimes."

 

" _Sometimes_ ," Liam agrees, chuckling. "Other than that though, you said you needed to borrow the Jolly?"

 

"Yes," Killian answers, "in three days time, I want to take her out on the Jolly, reserve it for me on Thursday?"

 

"That can be done."

 

"Thanks, brother."

 

.~.

 

He takes her out of the house to go horseback riding, and things go well as planned. They follow the guide in front of them and they're actually all laughing and telling ridiculous stories. Killian tells her and the guide some crazy fan moments such as how one person asked to sign their face once. That one got Emma into a fit of laughter until they all calmed down, he couldn't tell another story.

 

At some point though, they take a sharp turn and the horse decides to throw her off the back which he only realizes when he turns his head and stops his horse to see her on the grass field, rubbing the back of her head with her helmet on the side. She claims she's fine but the guide and him stare at her like she's insane, she just fell off a horse, there's no possible way that she's okay. Unconvinced, he carefully pulls her up and feels at her head, feeling a small bump forming.

 

"It doesn't hurt - I'm pretty sure it's just a bruise," she insists, rubbing it off and putting her helmet back on. "Trust me. I know, and this is nothing."

 

He doesn't want to know what _that_ means if it's nothing, but he doesn't ask, but just pulls her up and brushes hair away from her face. He accidentally pulls her with too much force with results in her being pressed flush against him, the force from her impact making him stumble a step back before he regains his balance. His hand is still on her wrist, and she's furrowing her brows and staring into his eyes and his eyes betray him and flicker down to her lips before back to the green orbs that are analysing him.

 

For one, he's screwing up from this, he should pull back and let her get back onto her horse, but she's so close to him and the warmth of her body against his feels so _right_ in so many _wrong_ ways because this is not supposed to happen. This is supposed to be a harmless friendship. He eventually coughs, clearing his throat as he glances away, tilting his head toward the horse.

 

"Uh, back to _riding_ then," he finally says, excusing himself embarrassingly.

 

"What - I'm going to ignore _that_ remark," she mutters in response, stepping out of his reach and getting herself back on her horse.

 

He's relieved that she's finally out, otherwise he probably would have done something stupid and kissed her. "What? It was an innocent comment of what we're doing," he says as he gets onto his horse and follows behind the guide again. "Does that bother you, Swan? Perhaps falling off the horse has gotten rid of your sense of humour."

 

She bites back, "You're an ass."

 

"Yes, and you got kicked off of one. I've been insulted better than that before, darling." He grins knowing he's challenging her by this point. He listens to her deep breath and exhale, he notices her shake her head and continues to ride forward.

 

The ride sends them to beautiful places, places he hasn't seen in a very long time. The grassy plains or the cliff that shows them the sea from a higher angle, the wind blowing into his face gently. The entire time, he has eyes on her, not that he's not done that before, but there's something about her now which leaves him sort of out of oxygen and dying for breaths. _She's beautiful_ , he muses to himself, seeing her hair flow with the course of the wind, her smile and cheekbones, the laughter that escapes her lips.

 

At the end of the ride, he thanks the guide and walks out with Emma, still feeling slightly awkward for their little moment earlier. He can't get rid of the feeling of her against him like _that_ for some reason, and he desires for more when he knows he can't have that more.

 

Or can he? He definitely can have more but it's far too much of a risk, and he doesn't want to break her heart or scare her away from what he wants. However selfish he may be, he wants to protect her and be there for her, not be the one who will end up hurting her or making her speed off at the sound light because he wants something that she may not. He only endeavors to be a friend, but apparently he's already slowly crossing that line quite unintentionally. Apparently the line of "can't stop what the heart wants" is true because he _really_ wants her.

 

The issue here is that there are some things she seems afraid of, fears and pain buried deep down, a possibly shattered heart from the past that she's ashamed of and not willing to share with him. But that's more than okay with him - he just needs her to trust and believe him, hoping she knows that she can count on when things get rough, or just if she's having a rough day.

 

He notices her absently rub the back of her head and he begins to worry. He's not the overly protective and possessive type, but he just doesn't want her to be hurt. "Swan, are you okay?"

 

She turns to him and nods. "Yeah, a little sore though, that's it."

 

"You're sure?"

 

"Yes, Jones, I'm _sure_ ," she reiterates, confirming it. He hears the acidity of her snapping back though.

 

She's silent on the way back and that's partially his blame because he decided not to say anything to her, but when they're back in the house, she immediately grabs a book from the shelf next to the TV and makes her way out to the patio outside in the backyard. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck before he goes to take a quick shower, hoping to rid himself of his worries.

 

By the time he's out of the shower, she's still sitting outside with her head down. He makes her hot cocoa with cinnamon and brings it outside of her, setting it on the small plastic table next to her seat.

 

"Thanks," she murmurs, setting her book down. "How'd you know I was craving for some of this?"

 

He chuckles and shrugs nonchalantly. "Luck of the Irish, I suppose," he jokes. It takes him a bit before he builds up the gut to address what happened earlier. "Look, Emma, I didn't mean to upset you earlier with anything I said or intended. I'm just rather... well, _caring_ when it comes to someone important to me." He carefully words what he has to say as his eyes study her facial expression.

 

"Killian, it's... fine, I'm just being dumb." She shrugs, taking a sip from her hot cocoa before continuing. "I'm just really not used to having someone do things like that for me, especially with the way you're so helpful and caring," she explains somewhat vaguely, her voice softer than usual. "Didn't mean to come off a bit cold earlier, it just sort of came out before I could take it back."

 

"Then get used to it, love," he murmurs. "And when you properly meet Liam, expect him to coddle and tease because that's _exactly_ the kind of older brother he is. I can't stand him sometimes." His warning comes out as a complaint as well.

 

"Sounds great," she sarcastically responds.

 

"You've no idea."

 

The rest of the day results in them doing nothing in particular besides enjoying each other's company. The one time he decides to check his phone, he's got a load of missed calls and messages from both David and Mary Margaret. As much as he knows David never really wanted him to converse with his friend, he couldn't help but get dragged into building this new bond with her.

 

He tells her about the multiple messages that have been left by David and Mary Margaret and the both of them break into a fit of laughter. The night is getting cooler, the sky is growing dark and the moon is out, but neither of them move from their spots on the patio chairs. When he stands up, she gets up too and _tackles_ him into the pool, the both of them drowning into the water with a large splash. Swimming up for air, he finds her laughing even harder than before while he coughs out the remains of water that went into his mouth.

 

He raises an eyebrow in skepticism, wondering what the intentions of her antics are, but he soon realizes that there's never an intention besides her wanting to get revenge on him for the times he's thrown her over the shoulder and dumped her into water. She says they're finally tied but he doesn't believe a single word because her eyes show a completely side of her, the side that says she's _not_ done with screwing around with him as it already is. His heart swells at her joyous behaviour, but now they're both soaking wet and cold but not moving out from the pool.

 

This time, he can't hold it back anymore. Watching her being happy yet seeing the the temporary horrific look makes him want her even more. Despite the pressure of the water slowing his movements, his head reaches out for her forearm, pulling her against him as his lips firmly press against hers. It's _not_ what he's expected out of kissing her, not the anticipation he had from before. This - _bloody hell_ \- this is... him seriously kissing Emma Swan. And he's about to pull back because this must be the biggest mistake of his life by now, but her arms wrap around his neck and pull him back.

 

Emma's lips are soft against his and they move in perfect unison. There's this burning feeling inside of his stomach already threatening to combust into a large set of flames. She sets him on fire and in a good way that he doesn't ever want to stop. His shirt is damp from the water, his hands already moved to gripping gently at her waist as he takes more control.

 

He's the first one to pull back and he notices her chase after his lips just slightly as he smiles, catching his breath as he leans his wet forehead against hers. "That was -"

 

"Wow," she interrupts.

 

Chuckling quietly, he opens his eyes to stare at her, to literally soak in this woman in front of him. "I could say quite the same," he says, swallowing as he notices the green in her eyes more vibrant than ever. He can see the blush on her cheeks, the flushed amount of red. "Swan, I don't regret kissing you, but... what does this make us?"

 

She sighs and shrugs. "I don't know."

 

"I figured," he mumbles. "I suppose we'll sort it out later? Take it one step at a time, and if you feel like anything's happening too fast, you can tell me and I'll adjust to the pace you want." He hates having to admit to his brother that they are _definitely_ a thing, something Liam long knew before Killian was even willing to confess. "After all, I _am_ a gentleman."

 

"And pirate," she adds on.

 

"And that," he agrees, grinning. He is inexplicably happy at the moment. The water is still dripping down his face and her hair is sticking to hers. He keeps her close to him, holding her for a little longer before he feels her shudder, telling him that it's time to get out of this pool and warmed up. "Let's get inside, love."

 

He gets her wrapped up and back inside where the fireplace freshly burns. After he switches into dry clothes, he goes back into the living room and sinks down onto the couch in fatigue, running a hand through his still damp hair before Emma walks in in a fresh set of clothes too, gathering herself up and onto the couch, her head laying on his thighs. He smiles down at her and threads his fingers through her blonde hair in a soothing manner, watching her eyes close.

 

She says she admits she's not good at relationships but he makes her want to try. He returns the exact same thing as he continues gently running his hand through her hair. She even says she has a history she's not proud of, things she really wants to tell him but can't just yet, and when her voice cracks in the most simplest of manners, his heart aches for her. He moves his thumb over to run over the apple of her cheek, noticing her lean into his touch. His other hand trails down her arm until he grabs her hand, bringing it up to brush her knuckles over his lips.

 

"You're not real," she grumbles, her lips pursing.

 

That manages to surprise him, his eyebrows going up on his forehead. "I assure you I am very real, sweetheart."

 

"You're like _perfect_ , the star and dream guy for every girl out there."

 

"Aye, but I've got eyes for only one."

 

She hums, her hand squeezing his before she lets go. "Do I need to be jealous?"

 

"Perhaps," he teases. "She's a blonde beauty with a stunning smile and a wonderful personality."

 

"Wow," she huffs, "sounds great."

 

Grinning, he retorts back, "Oh yeah, definitely, love."

 

At the end of the day, she's fast asleep, her head still resting on his lap, her hand loosely tangled with his. Carefully, he manages to get himself out so he can carry her to bed because sleeping on the couch is not the most comfortable thing in the world. She stirs slightly in his arms, her cheek pressing against his chest gently. He tries to ignore how perfectly she fits against him, how they're both so similar in several ways.

 

Setting her down on the bed, he hears her take a deep breath, but he can tell she's still well deep in her slumber at the moment unlike the first day when she couldn't sleep at all. He reckons he's made it more comfortable for her, that she no longer worries about how the week is going to go, that she no longer has to constantly doubt what his intentions are. This is by far the favourite day of his week and he can't fathom to remember that she leaves by the end of the week, it's going be like torment from being so far away from her, but he'd gladly wait for her.

 

He doesn't know _why_ he feels so much for her, but he does and it's likely it's not going to change.

 

Too early to say that she's going to sleep when he jolts up to the sound of his name being whispered. Blinking out the sleep from his eyes, everything still feels much like his haze talking to see Emma in his room.

 

"I had a nightmare," she whispers, her voice too quiet. "I can't sleep."

 

"What would you like me to do, darling?" he asks, sitting up in bed and pulling her close. "Do you want to talk about it? Another song, perhaps?"

 

"No... none of that," she murmurs. "Can I just -"

 

He knows what she wants so he interrupts her, "I understand." He shifts his position so she climbs over him, slipping under his comforter. For tonight, he wraps his arms around her but still gives her space, and when she doesn't fight him or squirm around in protest, he tightens his arms around her by a notch.

 

The smell of her shampoo clings to her hair and for a moment he basks in the moment because he's yet to imagine this scene in his head. Right now this is probably just temporary, that she'll end up back in the spare bedroom by the end of the day tomorrow, but for today, he just allows himself to hold her and shield her from whatever demons haunt her in the dead of the night.

 

His nose is buried in her hair when he hears her hushed '"thank you."

 

He presses a kiss to the spot where her head got slightly bruised from the horse ride. "Sleep, love," is all he murmurs as his eyes slide shut.

 

He's not really surprised when he wakes up to find out that she's not in the bed, that the presence and warmth has been long missing since her side is already cold. Sighing, he gets himself out of bed, scratching the back of his head as he trudges down the hallway, hearing the running water from the shower. At the moment, he just wants to give her some time and space, but he wishes that whatever wants to scare her during her sleep will fade with time or that he can possibly muffle all those images and voices from her mind.

 

But he knows he's not a solution to all of her problems by this point.

 

She doesn't seem so bad when she's out of the washroom, not as bad as last night. He smiles at her and hands her a mug of coffee and she smiles back, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek that leaves him standing there in a daze like an idiot. He seems to forget that they're technically a thing now.

 

Killian calls up Liam later on after breakfast, asking if everything is ready for their little trip. He feels like a giddy teenager the entire time he's driving, he fails to see small bit of laziness coming from Emma. When he does notice, she says she's just a little tired which he doesn't believe, but doesn't press for more answers or a more elaborate explanation. By the time he's parked and has her arm looped in his and leading her toward the Jolly, it's a bit too late to turn back by this point and head back to the house.

 

She scoffs at the way he announces, "Behold, The Jolly Roger!" but also because she seems to be reminded of Peter Pan. Not the best thing to try and explain to her about how he has his liking toward that name and all, but it's well worth it in the end when she's standing there with the wind blowing against her, her hair in a beautiful mess and a smile gracing her lips.

 

When they're far enough at sea, the horizon of Dublin a fair distance away from them, he anchors them down for the day.

 

"Stopping now, are we?" she asks, turning to face him as he approaches her.

 

"Aye," he replies. "We're also going to stay until the night. The view of the stars and horizon are much better out here, and I'd rather show you from here instead of from the house. Trust me, it's a _far_ superior view than from what you've seen before."

 

"Huh, is that supposed to mean anything?"

 

"Well, no, I suppose a little education and that you'd find it calming," he honestly admits, smiling sheepishly. "But we can't stay inland forever."

 

"True," she murmurs. "Thank you, Killian."

 

He grins, realizing it's been a long time since she's said his first name. "Hmm, you're most welcome, Emma."

 

Both of them find it crazy that the time can pass by so quickly without either of them realizing. He's spent a majority of the time educating her on parts of the ship, and then he gave her a tour of the tour of the entire ship, and hours already passed before them. Also worth mentioning that he had quite the make-out session like to dumb teenagers in the cabin for a bit before both of them found it was time to eat.

 

Now, he's serving her food that Liam had packed for them. "Grilled cheese is my usual go-to," she tells him while he hands her a glass of beer. He tucks that information into the back of his mind, the part where he stores all the little details about Emma Swan.

 

Making time pass even faster, he tells her childhood stories of him and Liam. Of times where his brother and him hated each other, of the times he started to look up to Liam, of the times Liam would never stop teasing him of being langley and slim when he was a young teen. He mentions the absence of both of their parents, briefly discussing how his mother had passed away due to natural illness and their father's disappearance of abandonment shortly after. He hopes that by opening up about him, it'll make her feel comfortable to spill the same, even if it's just the smallest glimpse to her history.

 

"Let's just say I didn't have family as a kid," she humorlessly states, staring into her beer bottle. "Nor did I have a good track record with men. Until _you_ came along."

 

His lips curve up into a small smile, but he can't help but want to fold her into his arms and take away all the abandonment she's experienced. Whatever loss she's had still haunts her whenever she closes her eyes apparently, he's been one to notice that.

 

"I don't really want to talk about it though," she murmurs into her drink.

 

He nods understandingly, reaching out and taking hold of her free hand. "Then we won't talk about it until you feel comfortable with sharing that information."

 

Until the sun starts to set, they eat at a pretty slow pace while they just share other bits and pieces of information with each other. If anything, they've definitely bonded on this ship now, a new memory to be set in stone.

 

"Hey, I never asked... how did you come to playing the guitar, singing, and making music?"

 

"Now that story doesn't have as many details as you'd probably think." He shrugs, his tongue darting between his lips. "Mum enlisted me into guitar lessons when I was, I don't know, around ten. Our school also had a guitar class when I was around fourteen, so I continued playing and singing. Eventually I just started to create my own songs, and well, the rest is just hard work and yelling at myself when I couldn't get things the way I wanted it be. Liam would often be my audience and criticizer until I performed at school."

 

"You seemed like a dork."

 

"Believe it or not, I _was_. That is, until my devilishly good looks set in to fight that off."

 

She snorts. "I wouldn't say devilishly good looks, but you're _okay_."

 

He fakes a frown. "Ouch," he hisses.

 

"How dramatic of you," she mutters, rolling her eyes at him.

 

"Perhaps I should have pursued an acting career," he kids, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "But enough of that, look at that sunset!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm just going to leave it on that note...


	4. Chapter 4

Things don't go exactly as planned (not that he has any plans anymore) the next morning when he wakes up to find Emma wrapped in her bed sheets - though it looks as if she's thrown some kind of tantrum.

 

Her answering coughs, groans and sneezes tell him just enough to know that she's sick and not in a good way whatsoever. He's out of medicine so he runs to the pharmacy quickly and back, quickly giving her all the possible medicine he can to fend off all the bacteria that has somehow decided to kill her inside and out. Her forehead is _burning_ quite literally, his face contorting into a grimace as he watches her swallow the cough medicine. And then she coughs after that.

 

Because it tastes bad as always.

 

So when he noticed how her movements were a bit off yesterday, this is why.

 

"I'm okay."

 

"No, you're not," he grumbles, brushing away the hair on her forehead. "Perhaps going out for a swim in the middle of the night was not a good idea." He sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

 

"Pretty -" she coughs, "- sure that wasn't the cause," she mumbles.

 

"Whatever it was, it's got you like boiling water. You're gonna get rest here and I'm going to go make some soup."

 

He spends a good while in the kitchen making sure everything in the soup is just right before he pours some into a bowl and moves down the hallway with instinct. She's half-asleep by the time he's shaking her shoulder gently, practically shoving the bowl of chicken broth with some ginger in her hands, watching her take slow sips of it. There's something about her eyes this time, as if she wants to protest against all of this caring, and he wonders, just _how long_ has she been fighting all along by herself without a person there to take care of her time to time?

 

Originally, he was thinking of having a dinner with Liam, Elsa, and their son, but it turns out that may not be happening anytime soon, especially if this lasts longer than two days. She's got to go by the end of the week, there's no way she's going to get any better at this rate.

 

"You don't need to do this," she rasps.

 

"Too late," he shoots back, smiling and leaning down to press a kiss into her hair. "Someone has got to take care of you once in awhile. I can't help but imagine that to be _me_."

 

Emma doesn't respond to that, she just tentatively takes frequent sips of the soup before she's done and he takes it from her hands. He orders her to sleep, and he can see she's not going to retaliate against any of his demands, so she does as she's told (hesitantly).

 

He hears her murmuring throughout her sleep and he really wants to barge into her room and do something about it, but he can't make out the words of what she's saying, nor does he plan to intrude her space when she needs the sleep. The day goes by slowly without something to do and this reminds him of how different everything was before Emma. But now she's apart of his life as much as he's apart of hers, and neither of them seem to object to the fact that they're quite attracted and interested in each other for plenty of reasons.

 

He's writing in his room, random lyrics that come to mind, before his phone vibrates next to him, the screen lighting up with an incoming call from David.

 

"You finally pick up," David complains.

 

"Sorry, mate, been rather busy recently."

 

"With my friend."

 

"Yes, your friend."

 

"Do you like her?" David asks.

 

Killian sighs. "Aye," he responds quietly, glancing down at the lyrics on his sheet of paper, words scribbled up and about. "She makes me feel whole."

 

"That's rich coming from you." David chuckles. "It's all over the news, did you know that?"

 

"No," he answers, "but I saw it coming at some point. We weren't too secretive about the entire thing once we both wanted it."

 

"I know you're a good man, Killian, but please handle her well. She's been through much more heartbreak than she deserves, and I know Emma better than anyone. She'll run, she'll want solitude and time at some point, but if you keep fighting for her, she'll eventually break and trust you." He hears him sigh over the phone. "To be honest, I've never thought that you two would meet, or let alone get together, but it seems like she's happy with you. And I don't mean just any happiness because the smile I've seen on pictures with you two is a smile I haven't seen in so long - like, it feels foreign."

 

"Do you mean she's been in a dark spot in her life for awhile?"

 

"Forever," is the quiet response. "Not my story to tell, and I'm not going to be the one to spill the beans. But treat her well. Media is going to probably complain about you two, or even write good, but if everything goes awry, it won't be good for either of you. But, where is Emma?"

 

"Asleep in bed. Sick."

 

"You got her sick?"

 

"No!" he hisses, dropping the pen on his notebook. "She was burning up this morning, I had her take some medicine and eat something before I told her to sleep.

 

"Great," David mutters, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "I am going to fly to Ireland and kill you one day."

 

"Sounds pleasant, I look forward to it, Dave."

 

"Luckily for you, Mary Margaret needs my help with something and I can't talk any longer. Get her better, Jones."

 

"Aye, will do. Say hi to Ms. Nolan for me."

 

.~.

 

She's stubborn as hell when it comes to any sort of coddling. He knows that now.

 

"Go away," she whines.

 

Her voice is definitely getting better though. He's noticed her being able to talk and laugh a bit more, but it hasn't stopped her from trying to push him away.

 

"No," he sternly states. "You need to eat, Emma."

 

"I _will_ , just let me sleep in some more, Jones," she mutters, drawing the sheets over her head.

 

He sighs, his chin dropping to his chest in defeat.

 

After about half an hour, she comes shuffling out of her room (he claims it to be hers by now, not that he expects anyone else to ever occupy it), bundled in clothes that make him want to wrap his arms around her and cradle her. He slips her the plate of food and another bow of the soup that she, as she said it: "It was really delicious, you should make it more often."

 

And in less than another hour when he's fresh out of the shower and debating on watching a movie or not, he finds her cuddled on the couch adorably, her legs drawn to her chest, a blanket loosely draped over herself. He softly laughs to himself, shaking his head just as he crouches down next to her, touching her forehead with the back of his hand. She's cooling down, _finally_ , and he kisses her forehead before he shifts to doing the laundry job for the week.

 

Besides, he's going to be the good boyfriend and do her laundry so she doesn't have to worry about it when she goes back.

 

(It pains him to think she has to leave so soon.)

 

"Did you do _my_ laundry?" she asks later, peeking into his room.

 

He smiles, itching the spot behind his ear. A damned habit of his when he's nervous or anxious, or even _embarrassed_. "Aye. I did it while I was doing mine to save you the trouble of it when going back to Boston."

 

She sniffles, approaching and climbing onto his bed, straddling his hips. "Thank you," she murmurs, leaning her forehead against his. "No one's done that for me before."

 

Grinning, he nods curtly, dipping forward and pressing his mouth against hers gently. "Of course, love." He cups her cheeks, running his thumb over her cheekbones before kissing her again. "You know, Emma, I sort of want to discuss the details of our relationship and the petty media. Do you mind publicity? Or would you prefer privacy? Tell me what you think so I know how to respond to interviews and the infernal questions I get asked by the interviewers and fans."

 

She bites her lower lip. "I'd like to stay low for a bit, I mean, people can know and all, but don't give away personal life answers and stuff, you know?"

 

"I fully understand, sweetheart." He kisses her brow. "And say there are music awards. Would you be my date?"

 

"Uh, yes?"

 

"Good," he murmurs. "Anyways, how was your sleep?"

 

" _Good_ ," she answers. "I'm feeling a lot better now. That soup of yours really does the trick."

 

God, what has he done to deserve _her_? Whatever it is, he thanks the heavens for gracing him with the best possible woman ever, leaving him feeling so hopeless when it comes to being away from her. He's definitely going to have to find a way to cope without her presence being constantly around him, whether it be in his house or next to him.

 

She slides off of him so she lays on the empty side of the bed. "So... tomorrow."

 

He groans. "Yes, tomorrow..."

 

"To be honest, I've never done long distance before," she says.

 

"Me neither."

 

"I guess we'll just go along with it?"

 

"That is the plan, aye." He sighs. "I'm going to miss you."

 

She smiles, coughing into her elbow before she responds with, "Likewise. And on the bright side, despite getting sick, I had a great time nonetheless."

 

"I'm glad," he whispers, slipping down the headboard and interlocking his fingers with hers. "The next time you're here, we're having dinner with Liam and his lovely wife and child. I want to do this right with you, Swan, so that means you getting to know my family. What's mine is yours."

 

"You're really sweet," she murmurs, turning to face him. "This feels weird, to be honest. I've never had a guy who was willing, like you, to do so much with and for me. Technically for twenty-six years I've been running and never stopping and then you came along and...I stopped." She chuckles nervously, her hand twitching slightly beneath his. "I think it's about time I tell you a little about my past."

 

"Emma -"

 

"I don't _usually_ do this, but I _trust_ you, so don't make me regret this, Killian." She sighs, letting go of his hand and setting hers above his chest. She's intentionally set her hand over his heart, he's noticed. "I was found on the side of a road when I was a baby which meant me growing up in the foster system. It would have been nice to have a good family, but I never did. Parents either had their own baby and ditched me, or used me just for the money they could get. Bullies in school after school. You know, that stuff." She takes a shaky breath and cough and he really wants her to stop but she doesn't seem willing to. "And by the time I was fourteen or fifteen, there was no possible way anyone wanted me. I was always last - or a _never_ \- choice. When the first boyfriend, Neal, came along when I was around... seventeen maybe? I thought I was cared for and -"

 

"Loved."

 

She sighs. "Yeah, loved," she spits out in a bitter tone. "And I fell hard. We stole together because we both were similar, we had no money, we were on the run, not the best side of the law, but he gave me a sense of security. And then he ultimately set me to take the fall for one of _his_ fucking crimes. I went to jail because of that asshole all because I decided to trust him, to actually _love_ , but now I don't think I know how that feels anymore... to love, I mean."

 

"I'm sure you still know how it feels deep down," he murmurs, running a hand through her hair.

 

"Maybe, maybe not. But anyways, years after that when I came across Ruby's bar, she helped me out and she's been my best friend since. And Ruby led to me meeting David and Mary Margaret, and I can't say I didn't envy any of them since they were all in these damn relationships all happily, but they were friends and I knew that I could at least trust them. It didn't take long until I told Ruby I self-taught myself piano and could sing decently at alternating foster homes and she insisted on hiring me to be live entertainment. Life wasn’t too bad. A year after that, I met this guy called Walsh, but he too broke my trust, and in the process, my heart. _Again_.

 

"He lied to me on several occasions, saying he was a furniture store owner. He didn't lie about that part of his job, but he didn't tell me he was running a drug cartel. We went on for an entire _year_ before I discovered about it and broke up with him. After that, the most I ever had were one night stands because I've been deathly afraid of getting into pointless relationships that never end well. Whenever I chose to love, or to even give the man a chance, I ended up with a broken heart."

 

Her sneeze is what bridges between her and her sobs. Her hand tightens on his shirt, curling into a fist before she's openly sobbing against the side of his torso. His hand manages to twist her around so she's pressed against him, her head under his chin, and he tightens his arms ever so slightly, reassuring her that he's here, and will always be even if they're 90 million miles away from each other. In the end, it's her emotional state, her _entire_ being that he wants to anchor, that he wants to be the one who can give her all the love possible, something she's lacked well before she was probably even born.

 

(And hell should he know why he cares so much.)

 

David was not lying when he meant she went through so much heartbreak that it's been unfair in her life. He continues to hold her closely, his hand trailing down the back of her head to her neck, his fingers sifting between her locks of blonde, soft hair. The pained coughs and sniffles he hears nearly cracks his own heart in two, his brain is still trying to pick apart the events of misery in her life.

 

And he makes a silent promise.

 

Killian just pulls her up into his embrace more, kissing the top of her head while her crying settles down, her hand no long bunched in a fist. His white v-neck is now damp with her present tears, but the evident shudder that racks her body for a second tells him that she's calming down, only to settle into silence.

 

He brushes away her remaining tears, smiling softly at her. "Feeling better?"

 

Nodding silently, she smiles at him and his grows a little bit more before he presses a chaste kiss to her lips.

 

 _I'll be here_ , is the message he hopes she gets from him.

 

.~.

 

Driving down to the airport is vacant, odd feeling.

 

She grasps for his free hand as he keeps one on the wheel while staring forward, but it doesn't ease the nerves or tension he feels in his stomach or his shoulders. It doesn't stop the brewing storm of thoughts in his mind of her leaving so soon.

 

Her smile is sad and her eyes are glossy from the unshed tears from her stubbornness, but he kisses her once last time and murmurs, "I'll see you soon, love," before he watches her walk away with the suitcase rolling behind her. Departure is bittersweet and he wonders why goodbye exists if it's never good to watch them walk away and say bye.

 

But in the crowd of women, men, and children, he can still see her because she's simply the face he wants to see. The one that matters to him.

 

On the way out, people stop him in order to ask for signatures, so he puts on his charming smile and personality and signs and takes pictures, but it definitely doesn't stop the images of Emma circling in his mind.

 

He's grown used to her presence within the week that the drive back is lonely and silent, the only sound of buzzing from the car keeping him in place. When he's back at the house, the faint waft of her shampoo lingers in the hallway and in her bedroom, the one that's now unoccupied. The bed has been neatly made but it smells so much like _her_ , and he still can't stomach the thought that the week has gone by so quickly (she's attended that flight still sick too), that he's back to being all alone.

 

And they get back to the studio next week, and then in a couple of months it's the Grammy's. He's got a busy schedule ahead of him. According to David, they need to attend all the award shows because it’s likely for invitations and nominations as well.

 

He drops down onto his bed and stares at the ceiling until dusk.

 

.~.

 

It’s been weeks of Skype calls, emails, and frequent good morning or goodnight texts. The time zone mucks up a plan of communication between them, so there’s not much there. He anticipates messages throughout his day like a dog waiting for his owner to come back from grocery shopping. The calls the have over Skype never last too long because one is exhausted and the other is still full of energy and adrenaline to last the day.

 

Keeping up his relationship with her is bloody difficult but worth it, so he’s not really complaining.

 

Killian _craves_ her gentle touches against his skin.

 

He _dreads_ the wait between pending messages.

 

But he wouldn’t trade anything in the world for what he’s capable of having with her, despite the difficulty of maintaining a healthy, functioning relationship between the gaps of their distance.

 

People give him curious looks and ask questions about who this _new girlfriend of Killian Jones_ is. Answering these come with a twinge bit of frustration because people can warp and twist words, but he keeps her under the radar, respects her wishes, and leaves the audience wondering all about the mystery blonde who’s “captured his heart.”

 

Which he is _not_ denying.

 

There are nasty things being declared on magazines, but then there’s also the sweet ones who wish them well. The thing is that people technically cannot insult them if they aren’t caught together. Sometimes, he forgets she’s a grown woman who can handle the rude comments, however there are days where he wishes he could shield her from the unfair negativity. She’s been through enough that he wants to keep her out of the spotlight until she’s comfortable with the usual hate and unending publicity for being the significant rockstar to the famous and handsome Killian Jones.

 

He finds it hard to accept compliments due to having a humble personality, but according to her, it’s one of the many traits she likes about him.

 

Things get a little out of hand when one interviewer subtly hints toward thinking she’s _fake_.

 

“Look, _mate_ , I can tolerate plenty of things, but any directed offense toward her is unappreciated. Especially if you believe she’s non-existent. I assure you she’s _very_ real and that I care deeply for her well-being at the end of the day, and if she wants to stay in the dark, I’ll respect her like a gentleman.”

 

There’s _a lot_ of backlash.

 

On the interviewer.

 

He heads back toward the studio that night and write music for countless hours. Some songs based on her and others not. Robin and Will help him out but simultaneously teases him endlessly, which gets him to crack a laugh or two after that disrespect he faced earlier.

 

He gets a message later on which makes him grin uncontrollably.

 

_**Emma: Thanks for defending my honour.** _

 

He responds not long after.

 

_**Killian: Always.** _

 

David cuts out that media company from having any relation with the band, but it’s more specifically for Killian (and Emma). He’s grateful because the good thing about… dating… your manager’s close friend is the fact of _understanding_.

 

He’s practically proud of himself for the statement he’s made because news everywhere are headlines about: “Killian Jones, gentleman to his significant other.”

 

He flies over to Boston on a surprise visit on the weekend. And according to Ruby, who contacted David and then contacted him, told him the address of the bar where Emma sings and that’s exactly where he’s going to go. It’s not called a surprise for no reason. It’s the rush of adrenaline he feels when he carefully saunters into the settlement, noticing the woman standing behind the counter who seems to immediately spark up at his arrival.

 

He learns she’s Ruby and that Emma’s in the washroom cleaning up.

 

“She’s been a little prickly today… I don’t know why though. She refuses to tell me any of the details,” Ruby tells him with an unfortunate shrug. “If anything, I think you’d be able to get the information out of her.”

 

“Thank you, lass.” He gives her an appreciative, curt nod before finding himself a seat in the corner of the crowd, away from the entire buzz of the talkative crowd.

 

The bar is pretty cozy - wooden architecture interior with some modernity - despite the harder view from the exterior. The lighting is dim but nevertheless, he can spot faces and their features and he catches the wave of blonde hair that has been tied up into a ponytail walk up onto stage. He’s grinning to himself in the darkness as he watches her set up, watching people quiet down at her presence on stage.

 

Her singing is on point but the thing is he can tell what Ruby meant by _prickly_. Although her outstanding singing is normal to the regular stranger, he hears the strain behind her message. Something is bothering her and he wants to do everything he can to fix whatever the issue is, but the trouble is getting her to _talk_ because he knows she’s not the words type of person. In addition, she’s stubborn and refuses to discuss her issues with other people, he’ll be lucky enough if he can get her even hint toward her issue.

 

Ruby tends to a drink for him, but as always, he’s enraptured by her voice and doesn’t utter a word to her of his thanks. He reaches at the cool liquid, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip. He doesn’t know how Ruby knows he likes rum, but he can probably take an accurate wild guess that Emma’s told her all about her trip and any other sort of details. And from what he knows, Ruby is the type who likes to poke into her good friends’ personal life - _love_ life to be precise.

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s gotten lost in her voice, but when she’s finally stopped, he quietly claps in the background, watching her take her steps off the stage. His eyes dart at her movement and he promptly follows her with his glass in his hand.

 

“Emma.”

 

She turns around quickly. “Killian?”

 

“The one and only.” He smiles but the look on her face turns his smile into a frown. “You were fantastic on stage, love,” he compliments, scratching behind his ear. “I believe a duet between us is long due.”

 

“What’re you doing here?” she asks, evading what he’s said.

 

His frown deepens as he approaches her. “Am I not allowed to pay my girlfriend a visit?”

 

Now she’s frowning too. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… I’ve had a rough day.”

 

“I can tell your heart is uneasy, Emma, and I hope - well, I _hope_ \- it’s my job to protect your heart.” He reaches out to grasp for her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers, running his thumb over her knuckles gently before bringing it up to his lips and grazing a kiss over them. “So whatever is annoying you, you can _always_ tell me. It just so happens that today you can rant to me all about your issues ‘cause I’ve been told I’m quite a good listener.”

 

She pulls on his hand and wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss into her hair.

 

“My landlord is being an asshole,” she mutters into his shoulder.

 

“And?”

 

Emma backs up slightly and glances up at him. “Can we not talk about it in a _bar_?”

 

“Well do you want to go back to your apartment and possibly run in with your landlord?” he asks, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “Is your shift over?”

 

“No… unless Ruby wants to dismiss me which is highly likely because you’re here and because she might be able to call in someone else to cover."

 

"Go talk to Ruby, love, I'll wait outside."

 

She sighs and nods, leaving the warmth of his arms to stalk toward Ruby who's standing behind the bar. He slips out quickly, leaning against the brick wall outside with the hood of his sweater over his head. It's January and cool outside, but it's not that bad to endure. He wonders what issues her landlord has been giving her, wonders if it's something to do with her rent. It's the only logical reason he can come to think of.

 

A couple minutes of waiting results in her exiting the bar with her own leather jacket on and a beanie. He reaches out to wrap her hand in his.

 

"Where are we going?"

 

"The hotel where I dropped my stuff at," he answers, tugging at her hand.

 

The lighting of the bar wasn't enough for him to notice, but now out in the afternoon, he can see the slight darkness beneath her eyes, the slump of her shoulders, and her slow movement.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, ahem, I assure you where I've left off is not as large as an issue as you may perceive it to be.


	5. Chapter 5

She's pacing around in the hotel room when he closes the door behind him, flicking the lights on. He worries (maybe a little too much), but he's angry at what's making her so stressed or frustrated at the moment. The last few days they had made contact she didn't seem that out of character so he didn't even realize anything wrong in the first place.

 

"Emma." His voice is soft but demanding. "Spit it out, love, you're worrying me."

 

"My landlord got pissed at me for being _one_ day late on rent," she finally blurts out. "Well he's still pissed at me because he thinks I just didn't have the money since he's aware I sing at a bar and assumed that I hadn't made enough to pay. In all honestly, I've just been trying to do so much at once within this last week, it's gotten me on the brink of wanting to punch him straight in the face and give him a broken nose."

 

"I certainly wouldn't object," he grumbles.

 

He understands where she's coming from but this frustrates him just as much as it frustrates her.

 

"Ever thought of moving?" he asks.

 

She nods but it doesn't exert any sense of consideration to the idea. "But it's nearby to the bar so I don't have to waste gas and..." she trails off, squeezing her eyes shut before seemingly forcing them back open. "I have enough to pay rent but not enough to go out and find a new apartment... Killian I'm not _rich_ , I don't make a fortune or as much as you and the others do."

 

It's his first instinct to help. "I can help."

 

"No, no that's _too_ much to ask for and I'm not going to have you help me buy a new place with the money you've earned, money _you_ deserve -"

 

"You deserve it too, Swan, I'm telling you, what's mine is _yours_."

 

"Yes, okay, but I can't pack up my stuff and leave because you're offering me something tempting but..." she hesitates, "selfish."

 

He cringes internally at the word because he can't believe that she thinks that her decision seems selfish. He wishes he could show her in over millions of ways how asking for that isn't selfish. "Are you happy at your current place?" he finally asks, his brows knitting together with a quick clench of his jaw. "Because if you're not, if you _desire_ to move out, then you _should_ , and nothing should be stopping you because your happiness is first and foremost."

 

Watching her stop and sink onto the bed in defeat has never been so pleasing in his life because he wants the best for her. If her landlord is disrespectful and has no sense of leniency, of course he's going to react a little harshly. He shrugs off his leather jacket but keeps the sweater underneath on before he hears her quiet response.

 

"No, I'm not that happy."

 

And that's the moment he makes her _change_ in order for her to feel better.

 

But before any of that hell, he spends the night with her in his arms in a hotel room (wishing that it was back in Ireland), murmuring soft words of comfort into her hair while his fingers graze the slightly exposed skin from her lifted shirt at her middle. The shiver of her beneath him always manages to make grin slyly, knowing that his touch does things to her just as much as hers does to him.

 

Morning arises too fast for comfort, the faint sunlight filtering in through the windows, the flurry of snow floating gently with the breeze. Her limp body is still pressed closely against his chest, her breaths deep and even, a rhythm he's grown comfortable to learning. He's buried too deep in terms of his relationship with Emma, something he doesn't mind because there's _something_ about being in bed with her, something about the tentative touches and hushed whispers, just something that makes him want forever with her.

 

Wanting forever already with her is frightening the bloody hell out of him. He doesn't know what the future holds for them, but he can't imagine anything else and that paints a big picture already. He can already draw that Liam, if he was here with him in Boston, would be mocking and laughing at him, but encouraging all the same to chase and fight for her.

 

 _"It's not often you'll find someone willing to spend time with you, especially if it's long distance, little brother,"_ Liam said one day. _"So hold onto her, and if anything, make sure she's happy in this relationship. And if you manage to screw that up, well, you know the drill."_

 

The memory of his wise words are still vivid in his mind. He's spent time with little Michael a couple weeks ago after Emma left, and there were moments where he could recall wanting a little family of his own. Of things Emma would probably not want yet, of things that scare the living hell out of her. Yet, he knows better than to blame her because she's only known heartbreak, there can't be a ounce of whatever is inside of her to not make her doubt sometimes. But that's why he's here for her, to stand by her side and assure her that the process of healing and happiness won't be easy but is guaranteed to be worth it in the end.

 

He sighs softly into her hair, staring at her sleeping form, trying to take it all in because he _knows_ he can't last long because he'll have to head back to Ireland for a bit before going to LA for the Grammy's.

 

Right, that was one of the reasons of him coming to Boston to visit, to ask her to be his date. This will be the first time he's to bring her to any major public event, and god, he now realizes how much pressure this must be on her. The last thing he wants to do is cause her any form of stress or worry, so he'll just have to manage with easing her into this entire "being in the spotlight" thing.

 

“‘Morning,” she mumbles, yawning.

 

“Good morning, love,” he whispers back.

 

She turns in his arms until she’s looking up at him and he smiles down at her, pressing his lips to her forehead. She smiles too and she seems more free than she was yesterday, but she hasn’t recovered fully from her recent stress. The lines have faded under her lines, the obvious bags no longer evident, but it’s still there and she’s still in need of good rest.

 

“Something on your mind?” she asks.

 

“Aye,” he huffs, “the Grammy’s and the woman who’s in my bed.”

 

“Oh.” She blinks before another yawn comes, rubbing her eyes. “You want me to be your date.”

 

“Aye.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay? That’s it? No worries about being on television or being bombarded with questions and such from the media?” he asks, his thumb brushing at her forearm. “It’s okay if you don’t want to do this, Swan, I know it may not -”

 

“No, shut up, Killian, I’m not _afraid_ of this - of _us_ ,” she insists. “I’ll be honest, I’m not fond of being… dressed up and everything for the red carpet, or to any sort of award show like the Grammy’s, but what kind of person would I be to leave my… you know, my boyfriend hanging? Especially when I’m proud of him for all of the work he’s done.”

 

He groans at the compliments, shutting his eyes. “ _Swan_ ,” he whines with a little pout.

 

“What? I’m being _honest_. I thought you like it when I tell you the truth.”

 

“I do,” he mutters, “it makes me happy.”

 

She raises a brow and nudges him in the stomach. “Come on, aren’t you guys nominated for best pop group performance, song of the year, _and_ new artist?”

 

In defeat, he sighs and nods. “Aye, that we are,” he says, “it’s nerveracking to be nominated for those three. Competition can be large, especially against that blasted manager of Regina Mills.” He scoffs, remembering their first encounter when the band was first starting. “Glad I took up Dave’s offer instead of hers. Though I still remember Locksley had a possible thing for her.”

 

“Oh my _god_ , are you serious about that?”

 

He laughs softly, nodding. “They hit it off without actually uttering a word to each other, but with her being too bossy, I dragged Locksley and Scarlet out of that office before they could say anything. Couldn’t say I didn’t notice, they were practically glaring at each other.”

 

“Is it bad that I find that hilarious?” she asks. “I mean, they… _them_ as a couple - imagine it.”

 

“I mean, _we’re_ a couple, I wouldn’t find it surprising at the least if they end up together or get in contact by the end of the event.”

 

“True.” She drops her head down and he feels her shift, her leg slipping between the both of his. “Can we… stay a little longer? My shift doesn’t start until later and I’m not in the mood to go back to my apartment yet.”

 

Killian drops a kiss into her hair. “Of course, love. Anything you want.”

 

.~.

 

He grows used to the distance between them, grows used to the frequent flights he makes back and forth on weekends, grows used to the man standing behind the counter at the hotel who recognizes him every month, grows used to surprising her at the bar where she practically jumps into his arms and buries her face into his shoulder.

 

He helps her move out of her apartment and confronting her landlord isn’t a pleasant experience. He’s rather rude, but he gets it over with, and begins to move her stuff out of her old place. The new one, well, it’s not that large either, but for now it’ll do and she can pay the rent for that place, the landlord is a _nice_ lady who’s respectful, and they offer a gym and other services which is far better than that other hole. Pictures surface of him helping Emma move in and it spreads. Fast.

 

David says the publicity is going well, that their relationship is gaining a lot of attention which means more popularity, which also means the chance of winning a Grammy. Although that idea is catching, it’s not the most important thing to him, not when he’s dedicating himself between being both musical and the proper boyfriend _she deserves_.

 

And in less than another month, the Grammy’s is here and she’s in a sleek black dress which hugs her body well. And don’t get him started on those heels which - _god_ \- make her legs kill.

 

“Well _hello_ , beautiful,” he murmurs.

 

“Looking sharp yourself, Jones,” she says with a smile. Despite the makeup, he can see the flush of colour on her cheeks. “The blue suit and black tie contrasts… did David help you with that?”

 

“Ha ha,” he mock laughs, rolling his eyes. “No, Swan, I asked for it, all the others did was help with the fitting.”

 

“What about this golden clasp?” she asks, pointing at it.

 

He glances down, scratching behind his year. “Well, that wasn’t my idea, it was just apart of the rest of the suit.”

 

“Well it looks _spectacular_ on you,” she whispers. “Same with the waistcoat.”

 

The grin that spreads across his face has him pulling at her arm, dipping down and pressing a kiss to her lips. “Thank you for doing this with me, love. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d wear suits more often.”

 

She scoffs, shaking her head. “And if _I_ didn’t know any better, I’d wear dresses more often, but greed gets you no where, doesn’t it?”

 

The buzz of Los Angeles is different according to her and he gets what she means. Though it’s a beautiful place, he doesn’t see himself living here because there’s too much traffic and crowds, plus, he prefers his house back in Ireland over this. The only difference is his distance between him and Emma, and though he wishes he could solve that issue easier, there isn’t such a simple way to go about it.

 

He holds her hand, their fingers slipping between each other’s and he gives her a tight squeeze and a kiss to her temple, warning her it may be a tad bit overwhelming. He’s not wrong, it is overwhelming with cameras and waves of people everywhere. “It’s like a dream come true,” she says at one point, which makes him laugh because yes, he can’t imagine that she would’ve though she’ll be walking the red carpet one day with musicians, singers, producers and so many other celebrities surrounding her.

 

It’s difficult for him to not have some part of his body in contact with hers. Either his arm is around her waist, or their bodies are pressed closely together while interviewers ask them questions. _How did you two get together_? or questions that are directly asked toward her of _they say you don’t like publicity too much, is that true?_ It’s easy for him to keep her tucked tightly next to him, to tighten his grip on her waist or her hand to tell her that _she doesn’t have to answer_ \- though she does in the end.

 

“You’re doing a wonderful job, love, you’re a natural.”

 

“Hey, you’re being the helpful one.”

 

He meets up with the rest of the band _with_ Emma, and that’s the first time she’s formally introduced to the three of them. Robin and Will are both respectful, but Will still seems to be more focused on the drinks they’ve served backstage more than anything as usual.

 

Before he knows it, they’re moving again, going with the flow with pictures and the attention for being the new hot band which is nominated in 3 sections.

 

The theater is packed with people in nearly every seat, the lights dim but bright on stage.

 

Competition is _huge_ because Regina Mills’ blasted band is up there with best pop group performance, and he’ll be _damned_ if they win instead.

 

“I’ve never even heard of the band,” she assures him, “and I’ve got no clue who’s in it.”

 

He chuckles. “Good.”

 

When the nominees for the pop group performance start getting called out, he notices a shift on her body language. Something’s wrong, yet he doesn’t know what it is. He squeezes her hand tighter until she turns her head to look at him. He narrows his eyes at her.

 

“Something wrong?” he asks quietly, running his thumb over her knuckles.

 

“I’ll tell you later.”

 

Accepting the answer for now, he sighs and turns his head back to the stage in front of them, but he doesn’t let go of her hand. But - damn it - her voice sounded strangled, like something had been shoved down her throat involuntarily, yet he doesn’t have the foggiest clue about what’s wrong. He’s too caught up in her behaviour to realize they win.

 

This time, she squeezes his hand and tells him, “Go, you guys won,” with a small smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes this time, but he leans over to press a kiss to her cheek before he runs up on stage with Robin and Will without a second thought to hold himself back.

 

He goes through the entire speech of thanking the fans, managers, producers and the record label. “And lastly, I personally want to thank my beautiful girlfriend, Emma, for being wonderful support. Thank you guys!”

 

In the end, they also win the best new artist.

 

The look on her face is pride and happiness, but she’s masking something already, retreating behind newly built walls and he’ll be screwed if he can’t get to her before they’re keeping him out too. At her request, they only stay at the afterparty for a few toasts before leaving because she can’t handle it, can’t handle _someone she saw_ according to what she’s told him.

 

So he snakes his arm around her with the award in his other hand, says he’ll see Robin and Will later, and then he’s slipping out of the place with her.

 

He wants to stop her in her tracks right now and demand who’s caused her to be anxious to leave, but he know that will cause a scene and will be all over the tabloids, and that’s not what either of them need or want. Everything was going so well until something initiated her tense shoulders and the lack of attentiveness to social interaction. There’s no mistake that he’s happy that they’ve won _two_ Grammy’s, but her mood is more important to him than anything at the moment, so that’s exactly what he’s going to tend to.

 

The ride back to the hotel is silent but his phone is going off. He ignores the messages for now, keeps his hand on top of hers, and lets her be reminded that he’s still here.

 

She’s pulling away again by the time they’re in their room, her ducking into the washroom to go shower after he helps her unzip her dress. He perches on the bed and stares at the award sitting on the nightstand, wondering if her uneasiness has something to do with the award, someone they were going against. Her shift in emotions did begin when they were announcing the nominees and that’s where he tries to link things together. Whoever she saw is _hurting her_ and causing her to run instead of solve.

 

Whatever little resolve is left in her is making her avoid him already. He hates that.

 

They’ve been happy, happy for a good couple of months now since they’ve gotten together through this long distance thing, but this sudden change is ripping them apart slowly. He unclasps the golden chain before slipping out of the navy blue suit, laying it down on the bed. Her being upset is making him upset.

 

It’s hard to not start pondering about what she’s thinking about behind that door in the washroom, what little control she has of her current emotions while she has water running down her. He wants to go in there and just _hold_ her until everything feels better, however that’s not an option and he knows she needs the solitude now, time to recover from whoever she saw that’s bringing back memories of pain.

 

A long while later, he’s staring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed behind his head before he hears the washroom door open and the pad of her feet. He sits up, keeping his eyes trained on her movement.

 

“Neal was there.”

 

He’s stunned to silence.

 

“He… he’s in the band, you know, the one you guys are so against.”

 

“But there’s no Neal in the pop music industry,” he quickly responds, shaking his head. “How is that possible?”

 

“I’m one hundred percent sure that it was _him_ up on that screen,” she mutters, “probably a changed name, a - a new identity. I wouldn’t be surprised because that’s entirely like him, something he would definitely do. He’s the one with brown messy hair, a bit of facial hair. God, _what the hell_?” She sighs, scrubbing her hand over her face. “I just…”

 

She’s crumbling down, every little bit of her wanting to break and he can _feel_ the knot in his stomach grow worse and the longing in his chest tighten painfully.

 

“His name is Ben Reese,” he whispers, reaching out for her, “but I suppose that’s not true.” Her skin is still moist from the shower, soft from the lotion he can smell. “C’mere,” he murmurs, pulling her into his embrace, scooping her up and into his arms on the hotel bed.

 

And she doesn’t melt into it completely, no, she only relaxes a little bit in his arms and even if that’s not the usual, it’s enough for him to say that his company and lack of effort and need in prying for information is helping. He presses a kiss into her still damp hair, letting her hand cling onto the tie that has been loosened around his neck. She’s not crying, but this woman, strong and beautiful and stubborn, to be seen in such a state is rare (like the first time) and his heart aches for her, and he wants to heal whatever wound is being freshly peeled open again.

 

“I don’t know why I feel like this,” she eventually says, throwing their silence out the window. “I mean, I can admit I still care but I - I want to punch him, yell at him, do everything I can but still ignore and imagine he’s not out there.”

 

“He put you in prison, love, it’s safe to say you deserve to feel all of that,” he calmly assures her.

 

“I shouldn’t - I haven’t thought about him ever since that night I told you about him.” She sighs, her body shivering.

 

He reaches over with his available hand, drawing the bed sheets over her. “That’s a good thing.” He doesn’t know what else to say.

 

“I’m sorry,” she grumbles, “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. It was your night, you guys _won_ , but here I am, ruining it.”

 

“No.” He sighs, tightening his arms around her. “Don’t blame yourself, Swan. Who knew he’d be under a new identity and be there? I suppose we were lucky enough to not run into him at the afterparty because if you had told me then, I definitely would have punched him without a second thought.”

 

“You need to stop defending my honour.”

 

“Never.”

 

“Fine,” she grunts, pulling out of his arms, leaning up to touch her lips against his. He cherishes the feeling before she’s gone, rolling onto the empty side of the bed. “You’re as stubborn as I am.”

 

He scoffs out loud. “I refuse to believe that is a valid comparison, darling.” He slips out of bed, taking his tie off and picking up his jacket.

 

“There you go, _stubborn_!” she exclaims.

 

Running a hand over his face, he shakes his head. “Difference between stubbornness and admitting the truth.”

 

“Why am I dating you?” she mutters to herself which he can _clearly_ hear.

 

“I could give you plenty of reasons,” he singsongs.

 

“Go shower or something.”

 

“You want me to see me wet and fresh out of the shower now, don’t you?” he teases. “Can’t get rid of me that easily, love.”

 

“Look, I’m still recovering from Neal - or Ben - whatever the hell his name is… can you go shower and give me a minute to absorb this odd information?”

 

Grabbing clothes from his suitcase, he nods, shuffling over toward the bed to press a kiss to her forehead. “Anything you need, love.”

 

His shower is just him standing under the water, remembering the pain behind her eyes, the betrayal and confusion. He hates the man for hurting Emma like that, for sending a young girl like her into prison for his own crimes. He’s a free man, a free man in a bloody band that’s their _rival_ and he can’t do a single thing about that.

 

.~.

 

She has a fitful sleep and he can’t do anything but take her into his arms and press kisses to her neck or murmur words of comfort until she’s drifted back. If he had known this would happy, he’d have definitely brought along his guitar with him to play a song for her, but alas, that wasn’t in the plans for him.

 

They're not spending long in LA anyways, only for the awards before she's flying back to Boston and he's heading back to the studio in Ireland to continue producing songs for the next album. The issue with this plan is that he wants to be with her while she’s going through this surprising stage, but duty calls and there are times where he just can’t be by her side. (No matter how much he desires to.)

 

To see someone from her past, the person that left her to rot in jail mustn’t be a bitter taste on her tongue, not something to settle in her stomach.

 

Like it or not, he still stands by her side for the next day, even through the airport where he says goodbye to her again. Unlike the many times he’s said his temporary farewell to her, this one hurts because this one is even more against his own will. He doesn’t want to leave her to handle this entire Neal thing along, he really _doesn’t_ , but he’s on a tight schedule.

 

He won’t get to see her for another four months, and that’s going to hurt her. Him. _Both_ of them. The risks of long distance relationships are not ideal happenings.

 

Distance isn’t that much of an issue for him, when he comes to think about it. Doubt are the things that harm their relationship, and he has them only because when Emma begins to pull away, he knows she’d bolt through the door to find an easier way out if she could. He’s already seen how she wants to figure things out on her own rather than have the aid of another person, he’s seen how her stubborn persona acts as a barrier, how the stone walls around her heart play the biggest problem between keeping herself safe, but also keeping the good things out.

 

“Soon,” he promises her, pressing his lips to her forehead, wishing to ease the unhappiness he finds in her gaze. “I’m always free to talk to you, even during recording sessions.”

 

“Don’t be dumb, I’m not going to bother you during your recording sessions,” she says, shaking her head. “Besides, I’ll be fine.”

 

 _No_ , he thinks, he knows she won’t be fine and she’s just stubborn to confess that, but pushing her will get him no where. Instead, he nods with a smile. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you later then, love. Have a safe flight.”

 

“You too,” she murmurs, hugging him once more.

 

A sharp pang of sorrow hits him as they go their separate ways.

 

He figures this distance will only strengthen their hearts. If only he knew.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since IFTA, I wanted to take advantage of that suit Colin wore, so of course I made him wear it in this chapter. Also, please, _please_ don't kill me for ending it there. This story isn't going to have as much angst. Though I often make it seem like it's a big issue, lol.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied, things get worse...not what I had planned. Sorry. Blame the music I've been listening to, and how my muse has decided to work with me today. 
> 
> I didn't even proofread this that well, so excuse any mistakes. Enjoy!

If anything, he’s persistent to make her walls collapse, but lack of chance to do so makes it a difficult task to accomplish.

 

Only another mountain for him to scale, apparently.

 

With a deep breath, he stares at his phone’s untouched state across from him on the side of the desk, the phone that hasn’t gotten a single message or call from her in the past two days; here to say it’s a record of non-communication between them. He’s been trying to come up with songs, trying to play out some new tune with the guys, but he sent them home over an hour ago and he’s been taking up space in the studio to constantly think instead, only having a miniscule of work finished and finalized with the producers.

 

He ruminates, spending another couple of hours until the dusk, coming up with lyrics, anything possible to scribble down that could be good potential for a song. A pattern persists though, and it’s likely it’s not going to change. Pointless attempts repeat over and over until he gives up for the night, setting the guitar down in the corner of the room and walking out, bidding his goodnight to the security.

 

These first couple of days without a message from her has him aching in wonder to know how she’s doing. It’s not like he hasn’t made an attempt to contact her, oh he has done plenty, but when there’s not a single response, it’s likely she’s just not going to pick up.

 

So, everyday, he sends her a simple message, a reminder. Either it’s about how he’s waiting patiently, how he’ll be there when she needs someone to talk to, or just him wishing her a better day than the rest.

 

He tries not to think about it too much, but when one week goes by and the next is nearing it’s end, his worry begins to stack so he calls David to ask. Fortunately, David tells him she’s doing better than expected, but she’s been avoiding people unless it’s something at work with Ruby. David is trying to keep all sorts of spies or paparazzi away from her though, to make sure no drama surfaces about her distant mood.

 

In any case, he’s aware of her recession by now. The way she runs and erects walls up until there’s no tomorrow, until her issue(s) disappears or until it’s temporarily fixed.

 

This withdrawal of hers is hitting him hard until she abruptly calls him in the wee hours of the morning. Like, 1 AM in the morning.

 

“I - Killian,” she begins. She sounds as if she’s been crying. “I’m sorry I haven’t been answering any calls or texts,” she says. “Something… came up, and the first thing I did was run again and I couldn’t stop. Just… be patient with me,” she says, “ _please_.”

 

Everything comes crashing down by then. He wants to be there for her, ask her what she needs, but he’s all the way in Ireland and she’s in the US - things are not cooperative between their relationship at the moment. He’d give up everything for her, and don’t ask him _how_ or _why_ because he doesn’t have any answer, he just knows, deep down in his heart and his gut, that he’s been searching for the right one and Emma Swan is the answer.

 

The pleas he can hear loud and clear. “Always, love. You know I’ll be patient with you,” he assures her. “But Emma, if you need me, say the word. I’ll book a flight as fast as I can to be next to you.”

 

“You’re not putting your career in jeopardy because of me,” she insists stubbornly, her voice still sounding a bit rough around the edges.

 

He sighs, helplessly, knowing she’s not going to accept any help from him at this rate. “Fine, love, but please talk to Ruby or Dave, okay? Or at the least, check back in with me so I know you’re faring well.”

 

“Okay,” she eventually responds quietly. “By the way, I didn’t mean to wake you up if you were asleep.”

 

“Oh, Swan, you needn’t worry - I wasn’t asleep to begin with. I’ve been constantly worrying about you each night,” he admits.

 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, her sound a bit muffled, “for making you worry. I’m fine, I assure you.”

 

“Well there are plenty of things you can assure me, love, but I know when you’re not doing too well. In that case, right now, you must be on your couch drinking hot cocoa with cinnamon with Netflix opened up,” he guesses, laughing a little bit to himself. “While talking to me because you’ve been feeling awful about… avoiding, but not avoiding me.”

 

“Yes, thanks for reminding me, Jones,” Emma grumbles.

 

He hears her sip on her drink. “I’ve always had a sixth sense at being a good guesser.”

 

“Would you like a golden star?”

 

“Does it benefit me in any way?”

 

“I don’t know, does it?”

 

That teasing tone of her has him grinning. “If the golden star is put to _good_ use, perhaps I’ll take it.”

 

She snorts, but the laughter comes shortly after. “You’re a child.”

 

“And you love it.”

 

“Yeah,” she huffs a second later, “yeah, maybe I do.”

 

It’s not her direct declaration of love, but if anything, that comes close enough to one for him to recognize it.

 

.~.

 

In spite of not being able to see her face-to-face, it’s actually a beneficial thing when they talk over the phone or text. In Emma’s case, he knows that she’s not good with words in the first place, that she’ll stutter or just not know what to say. So, what better way than to text? She doesn’t have to answer him immediately, it gives her time, doesn’t scare her off… it’s right, in a way. It won’t ever build up her courage with speaking straight to him instead (to look him in the eyes), but he’ll wait however long for he, regardless of the circumstances

 

And that’s when it hits him. A song about one partner being unable to express their feelings into words, or just having more difficulty with attempting to put whatever they want to say into words because of the fear. _That’s_ the next song he has in mind - which results in him rushing to grab the notepad with lyrics written in no proper order, some crossed out, some underlined after a significant success.

 

It’s not an easy task a majority of the time, but at the moment, words are coming easily to him. He’s happy with what’s coming out, and hopefully, he’ll be able to play this song to her soon. Either it be from a recording or it being live when he sees her in four months.

 

Suddenly having a reverie, he’s broken out of his thoughts when he gets a text message from her.

 

**_Emma: I think I just turned into a third wheel, save me._ **

 

He laughs, shaking his head.

 

**_Killian: I’m afraid I cannot do much._ **

 

**_Emma: Call me._ **

 

**_Killian: As you wish._ **

 

So he calls and she picks up after the first ring, excusing herself from whatever third wheel she’s become.

 

“So... how was your day, love?”

 

“Besides the crisis I was just in?” She scoffs. “I think it’s been decent. Work was a bit slow today and Neal has been on my mind again, but other than that, not bad.”

 

Killian sets aside the notepad and pencil, sinking onto his bed and rolling onto his side. “Am I making it better?”

 

“No,” she mumbles, “you’re making it worse.”

 

He pouts dramatically, causing her to laugh. Though the laughter isn’t as real as he expects it to be because it’s talking over the phone, it’s far better than not hearing it at all. “Where are you?”

 

“Ruby’s.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Yeah, Victor and her have taken… up the living room to do whatever the hell they’re doing.” She sighs and he hears the sound of her drop - onto a bed most likely. “But I don’t want to ditch just yet, so now I’ve taken refuge in her spare room to talk to you. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s eavesdropping out there, but then again, it’s Ruby and Victor - who are probably gonna be making out or something and then arguing the next.”

 

Chuckling, he slides a hand under his pillow, keeping the phone against his ear with the other. “Sounds like a spontaneous hangout session turned date,” he teases playfully.

 

“You have _no_ idea, Jones.”

 

“You know I’d be there if I could.”

 

“I know.”

 

He sighs, rolling over flat on his bed again, one hand behind his head. “I miss you, love.”

 

“I miss you, too,” she murmurs. “Long distance sucks.”

 

“That it does, _but_ ,” he says, pausing for effect, “it’s worth it. With you.”

 

.~.

 

The band is in full recording session for the next month which puts him at a stump when it comes to talking with Emma. With the time zone difference and his busy schedule, he’s been trying to make time to talk to her but it all gets harder with his job and her. But he’d honestly push everything to the side if it means getting to talk to her.

 

Their texts usually consist of goodnight’s or good morning's and wishes for having a good day with a couple of casual messages sent in between his breaks with a response, but other than that, he’s been going back to the house exhausted with her on his mind.

 

It’s always been like this when it comes to new albums - spending days at the studio - and it’s never been so stressful before until now. He cares for her too much to just leave her unattended, to leave her hanging when he should keep in contact with her. Despite her understanding messages of “ ** _It’s fine, just do your job, Jones_** ” and “ ** _Keep going because I need to hear that new album you guys have in the works,_** ” he still feels somewhat guilty, placing blame on himself for not being able to handle his girlfriend _and_ his job at the same time.

 

One night, he has to stand under the showerhead for a good fifteen minutes before feeling refreshed. He texts her later, wishing her a good start to her day.

 

He doesn’t sleep much that night, praying for his phone to light up.

 

It doesn’t.

 

.~.

 

Days feel like they pass by a lot slower than they already do, the time ticking painfully. Every day gets bleaker, especially when he doesn’t get a single call or message from her. She’s never on Skype anymore (hasn’t been on for the past week) when she usually is online, even if it’s on _Do Not Disturb_ mode. It’s like a sharp jab to his heart that she’s avoiding him or just not talking to him, or god, something could have happened to her and he would be completely unaware of it. Though, he does trust David or Ruby to call and tell him.

 

David never says anything about Emma, keeping any of that information to himself otherwise he doesn’t know either.

 

He’s tired of her pulling away from him, not telling him stuff he should be told. He’s unsure of how many times he’s going to have to tell her he’s always open to her. This time he doesn’t even have the foggiest clue about what’s bothering her - besides the obvious of Neal. Or Ben. Whatever his name is.

 

If he were there with her, he’d experience everything alongside her, be able to comfort her, give her any sense of assurance, but he’s so hopeless at the moment, worthless at his position to do anything. Confronting _Neal_ would be a horrible idea, but it’s probably not much of a surprise since everyone knows he and Emma are dating now.

 

He sighs.

 

Resting his head on the back of the couch, he nurses a small tumbler of rum - not enough to get incapacitated by the burn, only enough to relieve a slight bit of stress and cool his nerves.

 

For quite some time, he plays around with the glass; twisting it around with his fingers, tapping on the edges, swirling the amber coloured liquid around. Nothing really does seem to satisfy him before he swallows the last drop, taking a second to debate on what to do next before he’s in the kitchen rinsing the glass out.

 

A shower, he needs a shower.

 

Little does he plan ahead to realize a shower is far more thought-provoking. He ends up thinking for away, more or less about Emma and her current struggles. The hot water hitting his skin releases a bit of tension in his muscles, the knot letting loose. _Relax_ , Killian scolds to himself, bracing his hands forward on the cool tiles of the shower. Biting his lip gently, he slides his eyes shut focuses on the spray of water hitting the bottom of the tub.

 

He tries, at least. Though it doesn’t take long before his hair is rinsed clean of his conditioner and he’s dried himself off, what does take long is contemplating on what to do next. With little on his schedule for _today_ , he’s not much of a productive man. No muse to write or play music, and he doesn’t need to be reminded of Emma at the moment.

 

But his wondering leads him nowhere.

 

Meanwhile, a ring of his doorbell catches him from his thoughts.

 

Faint light penetrates through the blinds, his shadow being casted as he heads to go check who’s at the door. Thank the gods Liam is paying an unexpected visit with Elsa and their four year old, Michael, at least _this_ will keep him busy.

 

“Uncle Killy!”

 

The boy prances to his legs and Killian crouches down and pick him up, smiling. A mess of short blonde hair and blue eyes, perfect representation of the parents.

 

“Hello there, lad,” he greets, ruffling his hair before turning to the two adults. “Brother, Elsa, ever thought of _calling_ ahead of time?”

 

“Why must we be invited? We’re _family_ , which means we’ll drop by whenever we’d like to,” Liam quickly fires back with his smug smile, inviting himself inside of his house. “Besides, Michael here was dying to see you since it’s been a few months.”

 

Killian sighs in defeat and closes the door. “Aye, well, I suppose it never hurts to have a surprise one in a while.”

 

“You also need to tell me more about Emma,” Elsa says.

 

“Ah.” He sets the little boy down. “Well, there are some _complications_ at the moment between us - something I’ve lacked control over at the moment with our timing. But we can discuss this over dinner. I trust you three have yet to eat?”

 

“Precisely.” Liam nods. “Oh, are you offering to cook?”

 

“Of _course_ , I am a gentleman.”

 

Liam chuckles. “That’s my little brother.”

 

“ _Younger_ …” he mumbles before drifting toward the kitchen to prepare dinner.

 

.~.

 

It’s safe to say it feels awkward to discuss such information with a child around, but he’s more focused on the TV than anything, so that’s a lucky thing. The boy eats his food fast before speeding off to the couch, Killian hearing a quiet ‘oomph’ sound being made at impact.

 

“So what happened?” Elsa asks curiously, arms resting on the table.

 

He sighs, setting his knife down. “Emma saw her ex-boyfriend at the Grammy’s, apparently he changed his identity from Neal to Ben Reese.” She’s unraveled most of her past with him, but certain spots are grey and untouched secrets, but most importantly, he’s not going to disclose this information without her permission. “He’s… wronged her in ways, betrayed her.” Vague, dismissive explanation, but it gets the message across. “Something’s been triggered, she’s been lacking contact with me recently, or anyone, I think.” With a beaten sigh, he takes a sip of his water. “She also insists she’s fine, that everything is perfectly normal and that I shouldn’t worry - but you know me - I _worry_ , I _care_ for her deeply.”

 

“Sounds quite serious,” Elsa mumbles. “If she’s been hurt bad, it’s no surprise she’s in pain from the resurface of her ex.”

 

At the least, Elsa doesn’t ask for specifications on those terms of how she’s been hurt before. “Yes, I’m aware.” He nods, lips drooping into a small frown. “But being so far away from her, I can’t do much besides keeping in contact with friends.”

 

“And you’re still stationed here for another three months before being able to return to America.”

 

“Aye.”

 

“You’ve got many walls in front of you, Killian. A barrier for distance is what’s making things difficult. If it wasn’t for distance, it’d be far more easier for you to keep in contact with her and help,” Liam states. “And with distance, she doesn’t have to face you personally, which means it makes _running away_ from her issues something effortless. A smooth process.“

 

“That, I’ve got not got a single clue how I can approach to fix.” Pursing his lips in thought, he shakes his head in a loss of confusion and frustration.

 

“Well, if you can just _show_ her you’re persistent but also patient, she should come around eventually,” Elsa says, though saying the obvious.

 

He knows that, he’s been trying to prove that to her for the last few weeks. “If I could wait forever for her, I would, but time is of the essence here, especially with my schedule. I’ve done everything I possibly could to help, she simply refuses to accept my presence, even if we’re split by the ocean.”

 

“She is _too_ stubborn for your own good, little brother.”

 

Killian scoffs at the statement, an accurate declaration and observation, but true nonetheless. His heart gets this squeeze when he thinks about it - how she has such an obstinate personality (not that it’s a bad thing). Yes, it may be an obstacle, but it’s at least it’s a hitch in the road which he doesn’t mind going up against, conquering it when he can.

 

“I suppose we both like that trait in our women,” he jokes, tapping his fingers absently on the wooden dinner table. “No offense, lass - I mean it as a positive thing.”

 

She shrugs with a disdainful smile. “None taken.” Well _that_ smile proves otherwise.

 

Elsa is friendly, kind and quite the help, but she can also be very demanding and go commando when she’d like to.

 

“Uncle Killy.”

 

Glancing down from his spot in the dining chair, he sees little Michael bouncing up and down. “What’s up, wee one?”

 

“Daddy says you pway music.”

 

“I do, Michael, I do,” he confirms. “But did you know your father can sail a boat?”

 

“He says you can too!”

 

This kid knows _everything_ thanks to Liam being the dad he is. “Did he now?” When Michael nods, Killian sighs. “Well, do you want me to play the guitar for you?”

 

“Can you tweach me?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know about that, lad.” He shrugs, cocking his head to the side. “That’s up to your Mum and Dad.”

 

“Pwease?” Michael pleads, a pout littered over his face.

 

 _Damn puppy eyes_ , he thinks to himself. One thing he isn’t immune to yet is this boy’s little pleading eyes, the look of innocence which reflects unfairness when he falls for it. No doubt he’ll grow to be a charming man.

 

.~.

 

Ultimately exhausted from multitasking between Michael and the other two, the moment they’re gathered into the car, a tired Michael resting his cheek on his father’s shoulders and a wave goodbye from Elsa, he shuts the door promptly and cleans up the little mess.

 

He’s not sure what’s gotten into him, but Michael makes him want _more_.

 

A step he’s so intrigued in taking, though obtusely aware that she’s not going to be ready for that. At her request, he’s still taking it slow with her.

 

There’s a missed text from his phone which has been untouched a majority of the evening. Sliding the button across the screen, he sees it’s from Mary Margaret.

 

**_Mary Margaret: Emma’s not doing so well… she acts like she’s fine, but she’s trying to avoid contact with everyone, unless it’s ruby and the job._ **

 

It’s not much of a surprise to him anymore, but he still cares.

 

**_Killian: Can you tell her to please call me? She hasn’t done so in a long time._ **

 

**_Mary Margaret: I’ll see what I can do. But no promises - you know her… she’s hardheaded._ **

 

And for the rest of the night, in the dark of his room and moonlight permeating through the window and curtain, he waits.

 

.~.

 

He must be dreaming.

 

Nope, he’s not.

 

The flash of light from his cell and the ringing already has him up, reaching for it blindly while sitting up in bed, answering it.

 

“I woke you.”

 

He nearly sighs of relief to hear her voice again, to know that she’s at least calling him, despite it being at the most ungodly hour for him to be up and talking.

 

“Love, it’s all fine,” he insists, trying to smooth out his voice, clearing his throat. “I’d sleep much better to know that you’re okay.”

 

“I’m sorry… still,” she mumbles.

 

“You needn’t apologize, Swan.”

 

“Look, I just wanted to check in and tell you that I’m doing okay - for now. Work has been great and all, no drama in my life -”

 

“I’d beg to differ, darling,” he interrupts, yawning quietly. “Neal is still bothering you, I know. But what’s there to do, love? Keep worrying? Concerning yourself with a man that only carries the worst of memories which is now gone from your life? If you could move on… _somehow_ …” He sighs. “I know you don’t want a lecture of this nonsense, but it’s not going to change how I feel about you, Emma.”

 

It’s not _I love you_ but it’s damn close.

 

He knows how he feels.

 

“Moving on isn’t easy,” she counters back, “at all. I know your feelings don’t change, but he _hurt_ me and the wounds remain. Maybe… maybe it’ll be easier if we _stopped_.”

 

“Stopped? Swan, you aren’t serious.” He swallows. “I’m not allowing that. I…” _love you_. “I can’t let you do that. I know you’ve gone through the bad, but so have I. Kids all had dreams but I was unsure of what I was going to pursue before Liam and my mother assisted. I… knew someone, too, but she’s someone long gone from my life. If anything, we’re kindred spirits, we understand each other, we _shouldn't_ give up. When I’m with you - _bloody hell_ \- when I simply talk to you, I’m in utter bliss and happiness.”

 

“I’m… _sorry_.”

 

It sounds like a choked sob. It sounds like regret. It sounds like _I can’t take a chance with you - that I’ll hurt you in the end._

 

The line goes dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt the need to incorporate some big brother Liam and Uncle!Killian, so I put them in. Plus, who doesn't like a little bit of fluff in between the amounts of angst I've accidentally _(purposely)_ started?
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! It feeds me motivation to write.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's summer and I should be able to write faster than this, but when no inspiration comes - or even very little motivation - it's two weeks later I end up posting an update. Apologies to those that have been waiting for this chapter!

He dreads having to get out of bed, having to wake up in the morning to remember that the conversation they had was _very_ real.

 

Rum eases the pain away, but the thing is, he can’t go on a drunken stupor now.

 

There are no restraints though, nothing to hold him back at the moment, nothing until a little later in the afternoon when he has to head to the studio to meet with Robin and Will. Sighing, he grumpily climbs out of bed and slides into the washroom, showering and preparing himself for the rest of the day.

 

Two swift shots of rum burn down his throat, leaving a tingling sensation there for the longest time, though not affecting his ability to think. He constantly checks his phone in the hopes Emma will call back or at least send him a message, but the empty lock screen without a notification tells him she's not going to just run back toward him. If she's been running away her entire life, there's a low chance she'll run toward something or someone. He wants to somehow fix that, change things between them, not even declare them apart, but he doesn't know where to start.

 

He doesn't even want to begin to think of killing Neal for the scars he's left behind on Emma (and Walsh, too, technically). God, he doesn't know what he'll do if he ever sees that bastard, especially in public. He'd want to throw a punch at him, scream and shout at the top of his lungs for hurting her, but that'd cause a ruckus of drama, affect his reputation, and put him in a setback - it just wouldn’t be Killian Jones speaking. Not a favourable outcome to consider.

 

He figures some self-motivation will help.

 

It's still early in the morning, so he changes into some comfy clothes and goes for a run. He opts taking the longer route, just so it can push away the nerves and frustration that wanders inside of his mind, the many possibilities of how to get back in contact with Emma.

 

Music helps with the running. Mainly just a mix of soulful instrumentals, keeping his brain distracted and busy.

 

He pushes on until his calves ache, until he's dying for a breath, until he drops onto the first surface when he's back at the house.

 

He showers _again_ and ends up in there under the heated water for a long time, feeling the sorrow course through his blood, the frustration with the lack of _trust_ she still has in him, that they can make things work yet she feels the opposite, that they'll fail. Killian wants to prove her wrong in all the possible ways, that _everything_ could work out if she'd leave her trust and belief in him, in _them_ , but clearly she still struggles with the notion of trust.

 

 _Misery_.

 

Pathetic, really, he shouldn't sulk around, wallow in pain, drown himself in rum. It doesn't make anything any better than it already is on current circumstances. Victim he may be to heartbreak, his heart isn't broken, just undetermined at the moment, unsure of what stance he should take on the issue. He won't be deterred from his current goal, however.

 

Unless...

 

Well, maybe he'll be able to do some convincing after all.

 

.~.

 

"Hey, Dave?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Think you could help a mate out with a favour?" he asks, pacing back and forth.

 

David sighs. "I think I know what you want."

 

"Ah, then..."

 

"Sure. I'll call the other two and tell them about your plan."

 

"Thanks.

 

.~.

 

Ultimately, his plans are delayed by a week, but the moment he's boarding a flight down to Boston, there's nothing else on his mind except the idea of finding Emma (he knows where she lives, not like that's an issue), and finally convincing her that he's not going to simply give up on her.

 

Despite it sounding like a simple plan, he knows it's not simple to execute, not when Emma has her unyielding opinion.

 

This isn't child's play.

 

He goes to Ruby's bar first, or well, where Emma's working.

 

"Killian?"

 

"Ruby," he greets with a small smile, "is Emma here?"

 

"Her shift ended already, she left about an hour ago to go back to her apartment," she tells him with an apologetic look. "Please tell me you're here to win her back, she's been miserable for this past month and I haven't been able to convince her of much."

 

Solemnly nodding at the news he'd had already guessed, he clenches his jaw. "She wanted to break up."

 

"What? Emma didn't tell me that," Ruby exclaims, face scrunched up in distaste. "Damn the woman knows how to run from problems... but did you break up?"

 

"I - well, that's where the confusion comes in, lass. I tried to convince her. I would tell her how much I _love_ her, but god knows how much that'd scare her away further." He sighs, scratching behind his ear as he recalls their conversation. "Said she was sorry before she hung up on me, but not for one second have I believed for us to be a part. A disagreement, yes, and I would've come sooner, but time has been a pain in the arse recently."

 

"Go get her."

 

He bobs his head once as a nod before turning around, waving a goodbye. "Aye, I will. Thank you, Ruby."

 

He signs some autographs and takes some pictures when he gets out of his rented car outside of her apartment, the one where he helped her move in to. He doesn't need to buzz in when someone keeps the door open for him, the guard there aware he pays visits sometimes - makes things less complex.

 

Impatient as he is already, he is suddenly too afraid to knock on her door when he's standing before it. But he does it anyways. Three quick knocks before he hears shuffling from the other side. She can see him three the peep hole and ignore him, he's fully aware of that, but he's persistent. He wills it outside and wait for her if need be (but he dearly hopes it doesn't have to come down to that, he's not very fond of sitting on the ground waiting for hours before she leaves the haven of her apartment).

 

The door swings open as he shoves his hands into his jeans pockets, a little shocked at how wrecked she currently appears. There's a storm beneath her green eyes, the colour dull. There's a sense of fatigue taking over her, her shoulders a little slumped, faint lines beneath her eyes indicating bags from lack of sleep... he hates this look on her.

 

"Go away," she grumbles before attempting to close the door on him.

 

He pushes forward, keeping the door open before forcing himself inside. "No," he responds firmly, closing the door behind him before he turns to look at her. "No, I'm not leaving, Emma, not now, not in the near future." He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth before taking a step forward, closing the distance. "I'm in this for the long haul, you should know that. I wouldn't have entered a relationship like _this_ if I was just in for fun and games, love."

 

"What don't you get, Killian? I'm going to hurt you in the end and I'm going to end up being thrown away at some point because you'll get tired of me." Uncertainty shines from within her eyes, the glow of betrayal and pain arising. "If Neal _and_ Walsh didn't want me, what makes you any different?"

 

The words don’t even sting, there’s no point to them, no poison to hurt him. "Those men are at loss, then!" he shouts, finally. He notices her tiny wince at the rise of his voice. "I'm not Neal, I'm not Walsh. I'm not some bloke who wants to bed you and leave, take advantage of you and throw away the trust you put in me," he says, softening the tone of his voice. "I'm not even supposed to be here, but I worked something out with Dave for two days, _two_ days to try and fix things between us, two days so I could come here and persuade you, prove to you, that I only want _you_ \- not another woman I could pick out off the streets, not another woman from the bloody bar. Just you."

 

"I don't -"

 

"Bloody hell," he mutters to stop her from continuing with her petty reasons. "Listen to me." He brings his hands up to her shoulders with a firm grip. "What's _wrong_ , darling? What's really wrong?"

 

She visibly gulps, but she doesn't answer, averting her gaze away from him.

 

Removing one hand from her shoulder, he lifts his finger beneath her chin to guide her face back to his. "What happened?" he asks quietly, his thumb pressed into the familiar dent in her chin. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion and wonder, the type which he's worried gravely for her.

 

"Neal," she finally admits softly, _too_ softly - like she’s broken beyond repair (not that she is). "He found me."

 

"He came to see you?"

 

She shrugs. "Doesn't take much of a brain to find me."

 

"Then when are you going to talk about it?" he inquires, beginning to push her over the line. It's the only way anything's ever going to escape out of her mouth by this point. Without the encouragement (not the best kind, to be honest), she's never going to tell him. "You know keeping it inside of you forever isn't a healthy solution."

 

She scoffs. "Yes, like I have any other choice, huh?"

 

"You _do_." He takes another step forward, invading any personal space she originally had before his face is up close to hers. "Me. You can talk about it with _me_." Hesitantly, he brings his hand up to cup her cheek gently, very gently, practically ghosting over her soft skin. "I want you... I want you to stop hiding behind those damned walls of yours and put your trust in me, even if it's too hard for you to do. I will cherish and value whatever trust and belief you can give, no matter how little it may be."

 

"I don't know," she breathes out, barely audible and shaky, warmth of her breath against his skin.

 

He forces up a small smile, one meant to be genuine. "I know you can do it, Swan." Slowly, he brushes his lips over hers, just a _little_ bit. "I've always believed in you. I've yet to see you fail."

 

Now, he's done. He's done with pushing her over the edge, he's made his points to her, said them loud and clear, hoping that she'll gain her senses back and listen to her gut.

 

It's a single tear that drops, before she presses herself into him, arms wrapping around his torso tightly. He sighs, a little bit of relief and contentment, before he snakes his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "What did he do to you?" he mumbles into her hair, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing patterns up and down her spine.

 

"Not do... it's what he said."

 

 _She's not ready yet_ , he thinks, hearing how her voice is strained, how she still tenses in his arms at the mention of Neal. "Emma?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Would you like to go on a date with me - tomorrow?"

 

"Really?" she asks, pulling back and looking up at him. "You're asking me out on a date tomorrow night?"

 

He nods. "Well if I'm to court the fair lady, I've got to do it properly - a date is a good place to start fresh, aye?" His lips turn into a grin as he speaks, noticing her eyes brighten up and her posture relax. "Besides, I think it's time we go out for a bit. I've spent enough time around Boston to plan an evening out and I could care less if we're seen in public and thrown all over the internet."

 

"Okay," she murmurs, "I guess it wouldn't hurt."

 

Smiling, he winks. "Of course it wouldn't, you're with me."

 

"I'll hold you to that, Jones."

 

"I'd expect nothing less from you, love."

 

.~.

 

She's sound asleep on his shoulder, the TV still flashing scenes of a movie they've long forgotten. He scrolls through his feed on Twitter to find that images have been released of him being spotted in Boston - if anyone is aware of their relationship, they should be able to guess he's come to see Emma, despite the tight schedule of working on the new album and trying to arrange a more worldwide second tour.

 

He takes the time to respond to a couple of fans on Twitter while he can.

 

It's easy to ignore many tweets or just general comments directed toward him, and what angers him is the rudeness of people who comment against Emma. He loves this woman despite any distance or arguments they have, and in the end he doesn't want to tolerate any sort of hate against this woman. Emma Swan is a marvel - brilliant singing voice and piano skills, lovely personality, but has gone through the pain of experiences that shaped her with her own flaws. If someone publically posts hate against her, he will block them - but never does he respond to give them attention.

 

Luckily, many of his followers are loyal fans who are kind and respectful - that means everything to him. He's as human as everyone else, so is Emma, and just because he's "famous," doesn't mean he wants to be treated differently from any other human being; which similarly, it applies to Emma as well.

 

Maybe after responding to five people, he notices Emma's breathing pattern shift and her eyes crack open.

 

"Hey," she huffs, lifting her head from his shoulder, "I fell asleep, didn't I?"

 

"Aye, but only for an hour."

 

"Better than none, I guess." She yawns, rubbing her eyes like a child. "I think it's about time I head to bed."

 

Clearing his throat, he nods in agreement. "I best get back to the hotel," he declares, standing up from the couch. Before he's about to leave, she grabs his hand. "What is it, love?"

 

"You can stay... if you want," she offers, her cheeks turning an adorable pink.

 

He smiles and shakes his head, leaning down to press his lips to her forehead. "Tempting offer, Swan, but I've got a date to plan so I may as well head back tonight instead of dealing with traffic tomorrow morning."

 

"Okay. See you tomorrow then."

 

"I'll text you the details as soon as I can so you can be prepared." He hugs her one last time. "Sleep well, darling."

 

"Yeah," she murmurs, " you too."

 

.~.

 

Though he does get the date planned out at a nearby bistro by the boardwalk, he's a little nervous. It's been awhile since he's taken her out on anything considerably close to a date due to their constrictions with distances, but there's always a little bit of nervousness.

 

**_Killian: I'll come pick you up at 6:30?_ **

 

**_Emma: Okay. Any clothing specifications?_ **

 

**_Killian: Nothing fancy, love, stick with casual with a tiny bit of flare. (:_ **

 

When David calls on about how it's going, Killian tells him about his plans. Tells him how it took quite a bit of convincing (leaving out the fact he basically _shouted_ at her a little) before they quietly watched a movie until slumber came for her. Tells him about his plans to take her for an evening out tonight, and even utters a word or two about this nervous flutter inside his stomach.

 

It's times like these when he's glad on having a rented car to save the trouble of having to escort a woman through a taxi. Even better that his windows are tinted a darker colour just so people don't see him through there and decide to spread rumours - not like they haven't been spread already.

 

The drive to Emma's apartment is already like routine, he's very much used to it.

 

He's in a blue sweater with a black tie tucked beneath and a pair of navy blue jeans. Plus, sunglasses, to well… _disguise_ himself partially. He doesn't usually wear a tie or sweater, but for this moment, this _date_ , he's opted to it.

 

Grabbing the bouquet of flowers, he heads inside and buzzes in, only to find the door open before he has much to say. Emma knows of his punctuality, she doesn't even need to worry about talking to him ahead of time. He slides his glasses on the collar of his shirt while waiting in the elevator. It's a relieving thing to know most of her apartment neighbours don't seem to leave the house too often, leaving the elevator mostly empty every time he rides it up to the eleventh floor.

 

A minute later he's a her floor, strolling through her hallway, and knocking on her door. He hears the shuffle behind.

 

She's in a casual dress, but it's still - _she's still_ \- beautiful. "Swan," he breathes, shaking his head gently, "you look bloody gorgeous."

 

He notices the red rise to her cheeks and the tips of her ears, and he finds it somewhat adorable that she blushes to his compliments. He'll need to find it more in him to compliment her more often to see that regular occurrence.

 

"You look very nice yourself," she comments, biting her lower lip. "So, shall we get going?"

 

"Ah," he hums, bringing one hand up to stop her. "Not so fast, love, I've got to give you -" he brings one hand from behind him to show her the flowers "- this first. Though I didn't know what flowers you prefer, so I took a bit of everything I possibly could."

 

"Wow," she huffs, taking the bouquet from him, "thank you. Let me go put them in a vase of water quickly."

 

He leans against the door frame and waits. He's been in her apartment enough times to know where things are, how the place is laid out. The living room straight ahead, the kitchen to the left, hallway for one bedroom and a washroom to the right. Honestly, it's a simple apartment, a little modern, and not expensive, everything just in the range she wanted. A lack of sentimental items, however, and he's adept to recognize that.

 

However, he doesn't judge her for that. She doesn't have much in the first place, he just hopes to bring _more_ for her future.

 

"Alright," she announces, "let's go."

 

He smiles and nods. "Aye, let's get going."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking at getting better for these two, but the threat is still looming over her head a little, things yet to be admitted. But I can tell you we'll have at least one chapter of fluff and good times before any of that gets here. By the way, I don't thank you guys enough! I really appreciate the comments you guys leave, it really does make my day brighter!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is long overdue, sorry! I've just been really caught up on prompts in my inbox on Tumblr. Hope you like it.

"Just for future reference, love, what is your favourite flower?"

 

She taps her fingers on the table they're seated at, taking a moment for herself. "Buttercups," she answers, "it explains well, you know... this tattoo." She flips her hand around, pointing at her wrist.

 

Ah, yes, he's noticed it for a long time, in fact it's one of the few things he's quite curious about, but never really thought about asking because, just as she's said, it's apart of her childhood; something he knows she's not fond of discussing.

 

"I'll keep that in the back of my mind for our future to come, Swan."

 

"Like what?"

 

"What if I wanted to have flowers sent to you each week?"

 

A brow raises and she shakes her head. "My apartment would become a greenhouse, I'm not so sure about that." She chuckles and he laughs. "Besides, that's a lot of money, isn't it?"

 

The answer is no, at least to him. "I make a fortune, I donate some to charity, I still have remains. I don't have a lot of wants, but I do want to see you happy, and if you're having an awful day from a prickly audience at work, perhaps my show of gratitude will put a smile on your face, no matter how small it may be."

 

"You don't have to."

 

"I want to."

 

"Is there any chance in hell I'll win this?"

 

"No," he tells her with a victorious smile. He reaches across to take her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "Sorry, love."

 

She rolls her eyes at him. Just when the waiter arrives with their food, he pulls his hand back and thanks the man and orders the drinks, both of them sticking to really little amounts of wine to go with their food. Neither of them have the desire to get drunk - this is an elegant, simplistic date. Something for them to forget their little argument (though that's the biggest one they've ever had), and for her to forget about Neal.

 

But even for him, he's wondering what the blasted man has said to Emma, stubborn, beautiful, lovely Emma, for her to believe him.

 

The food is delicious, the interior of this little Italian bistro warming with it's soft lighting and friendly staff, this is what he likes. He doesn't like the big stuff, not the extravagant dates at an extremely expensive restaurant where the serve the tiniest amount of food on a plate. Killian knows that she doesn't like that either, she's always been adamant on small celebrations, to never take anything into the big league.  It's easy for him to relate to her on this sort of level. It's also one of the few things they have in common.

 

But despite the differences, he finds ways to understand where she's coming from. She doesn't celebrate her birthday much except by hanging out with a few of her friends because growing up, foster parents never had time to do that, never had the money to spend, never cared. Emma doesn't like being cornered in any sort of situation, she'd much rather have control because as a child, she always felt so lonely and undesired, that she never had much of a chance to change herself, the only way to do that is by taking control - but without control, she feels like she's already been defeated.

 

He's had his fair share in heartbreak - Milah - but she's long gone, taken a piece of him away which has already been replaced with Emma, someone who he believes is the exact match. Milah, she did things, irresponsibly, but the moment she left to return to her husband and son, something he was vaguely aware about, it didn't hurt as much as it probably should have. It's been over 5 years now, he doesn't care about that woman, doesn't need her like how he needs Emma. If Milah was pain, he's not sure how he'd handle if Emma left - not that he'd let her.

 

Interestingly enough, the distance cannot stop how much he understands, or at least tries to understand her thoughts and opinions. Her opinions matter just as much as his, and he wants that sort of equilibrium in their relationship, the sort of thing where neither of them have to sit out and be excluded, that they both matter equally. Sure, he may be the one fighting for this, but he can see it in her, in her eyes, that she wants him too, that she just struggles more than he does.

 

Which he gets perfectly. There's enough fighting spirit in him for the both of them. She'll learn in time anyways, he'll teach her if need be.

 

"So, how's the album coming along?"

 

He raises a brow, noting her curiosity for their songs. "Incredibly, I must admit." He scratches behind his ear before taking a sip of the little remains of wine. "Fastest we've written and produced yet, though by the looks of it, the album will be released by next year. Which isn't that long, considering there's another seven months."

 

"Any teasers?" she asks.

 

"No spoilers, sorry." He grins unapologetically before waving for the check, only to talk a little more with her. "I can say that this is likely to become my favourite album."

 

"This is only your second album, buddy, you're getting ahead of yourself," she remarks teasingly, finishing her drink.

 

Killian chuckles as he fishes out his wallet, pulling out a couple bills while leaving an extra amount for tips. The bill is only a stable $54.79, but he hands in a $65 for good measure. (Only because he wants to tip them well for their excellent service.)

 

She tucks her arm in between his, her head resting on his shoulder as they walk. The sun is already gone, only to be replaced with the rising moon and dark skies, the mix of violet, orange and red disappearing past the horizon. The buzz of some traffic is heard in the distance, though neither of them pay much attention to it. He walks in step with her, laughing and smiling and happy that he at least gets to spend this day only with the woman he loves, that he's gotten his chance and making some memories that, he hopes, will remain in her heart and mind forever.

 

And sometimes, forever doesn't seem long enough. Sometimes, always, despite how the term lacks an actual sense and amount of time, is what stands out boldly. He wonders about the day he'll be able to openly say it to her without the panic shooting up her throat and clawing at it, without having to see the uncertainty flare beneath her eyes.

 

They do say the eyes are the windows to the soul. And yes, maybe he believes that.

 

"It's beautiful, you know, to get out of the buzz of the city sometimes, actually see the horizon away from buildings."

 

"Aye," he agrees, watching her in amazement while her eyes are peering up toward the sky. He can't seem to take his eyes off of her, the way her casual white dress flows in the warm summer winds, the way her hair does the same. Or even the light-hearted smile he sees, finally something driven away from seriousness and worry, that manages to lift a bit of worry off his own shoulders. "Perhaps you can visit me in Ireland again, see that view more often. In the morning and before dusk."

 

Silent, only for a moment, then he feels the press of her nose into her shoulder.

 

"That'd be nice," she responds earnestly, her voice a little muffled.

 

For this once, he feels relaxed, like there's no responsibility on his shoulders; he doesn't need to write songs on deadlines and sing a the perfect notes, to struggle and find the right chords to play, not concerning himself with the world or media about the publicity he has to deal with. And he knows he never had this with Milah, that he'll only ever feel like this around Emma.

 

"When do you leave?"

 

He sighs heavily at the question, being reminded that he has to leave. "Tomorrow morning at eight."

 

She doesn't say anything after that, only pushes her way into his chest as he wraps his arms around her, knowing she's clinging onto him for dear life, for the time she has left with him for the day. He presses a kiss into her hair, swaying back and forth like how he'd done so with Michael when he was a baby.

 

(Because time is of an essence between them, only having the chance to cherish and be inexplicably happy without words to describe for so long.)

 

He's not sure how long they stand there, her face pressed into his chest, people walking by them or even snapping a picture or two. Emma doesn't care as much as she did at first, she's open to people wanting pictures.

 

And it's weird, the notion of privacy out the window, just standing there with her folded in his arms in the public. No one dares to interrupt them though, no one dares to tap his shoulder or stand there idly to get an autograph or photo. At least that still remains.

 

"Come on, love, let's get you home for the night."

 

He lets his hand slide down her arm until it reaches her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, the soft skin against his. In moments like these, he loves her.

 

In every moment, he loves her.

 

His sunglasses are still on, at least until he's in the driver's seat, taking them off and setting it aside.

 

Later, he's taking her upstairs, accompanying her every step until he closes the door behind him, pressing his lips to hers. He's wanted to do that for awhile, but doing so in public is a risk he's not willing to take yet.

 

Killian's hands are firm at her waist, pressing her up against the front door. They've never gotten that far in their relationship. Sure they've slept together, but not well - sex - and he hasn't ever wanted to push her toward that, not unless she's ready and willing to, not because she feels obligated toward it. Pleasure like that can be exhilarating, he knows, but he's perfectly content with the way they're working things out now. With Neal still a threat to their relationship, he'd much rather focus on that than having sex with her. (Technically, it's more of love making, big difference between that and just sex.)

 

He's flushed, his body burning beneath his sweater and the tie constricting his throat despite it not even being tightly wrapped around his neck. She loosens it for him, her breath hot against the side of his neck.

 

"Gods," he murmurs, kissing a spot beneath her jaw. "I don't want to leave."

 

She chucks the tie onto the floor somewhere. "I know." Her answer is firm, she agrees in all the ways, but there's a trace of sadness behind it.

 

But he keeps kissing her, kissing her because he loves her and he wants her to know that; nothing will push him away, not her past, not the outside man of _Neal_ who seems like he's attempting to break them up, and not the way she grows oddly distant when things get a little too comfortable - a warning as if something will soon ruin the happiness. He finds himself nearly admitting his love to her out loud, getting caught up in the moment of their noses bumping and his forehead pressing against hers, heavy breathing in place.

 

Emma's lips moves against him slowly, but is full of passion that he reciprocates heavily. The way her pupils are dilated and eyelids are heavy tells him she's tired, but he keeps pressing his lips against hers, deepening it until he's got her pinned on top of her bed, his sweater discarded somewhere into the corner of her room, dress shirt half unbuttoned. He can manage his own desires for now, but soon, he probably won't be able to. They're bordering a part of their relationship which is currently grey and undiscovered, but he wants to cover it soon.

 

It's him that pulls apart in the end, knowing the limit. So, they stop it there, neither of them having enough energy to continue, nor does he have the intention to.

 

(A make out session like that is well burned into his mind now. He won't be able to forget they way she shivers at his touch at her neck, or how he's found a sensitive spot beneath her ear that makes her gasp quietly, the sound still loud in the quiet apartment.)

 

He toys with her hair later when they've brushed their teeth, when he's pulled the thin cover (thanks to the warm summer temperatures) up over her shoulders, pressing his lips to her forehead.

 

It's not much for him to notice the missing person on the bed, but when he does, he begins to panic. At least until he hears the sound of feet padding around in the apartment. Touching the empty side, he realizes it's still a little bit warm, that she's only gotten up a few moments ago. Perhaps for water, to the washroom, whatever it is, he's just grown used to her warmth in this short period of time again.

 

He's only kept one set of clothes at her apartment, just in case he does ever visit and spend the night. He's in his dark grey sweatpants, his t-shirt with "Ireland" printed across is now crumpled from rolling around. Running a hand through his hair, he pushes the comforter back before exiting the dark bedroom, hearing the tap in the kitchen running. He finds her filling a glass of water and taking tentative sips from it, but there's something wrong, as if something's shaken her up and she's just woken up and trying to get a grasp back on reality.

 

"Emma?"

 

She turns to look at him, bringing the glass back up to her lips, taking another sip from the water. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

 

"Unfortunately, I've grown accustomed to your body next to mine in bed, it seems," he attempts a joke, much to his failure. "Are you alright, lass?"

 

"Yeah, yeah," she murmurs, dismissing the idea. "Just a small nightmare, is all. Also thirsty."

 

 _Definitely doesn't seem small_ , he thinks to himself. Instead of pushing for the details now, he nods and waits for her to finish up before he scoops her up and into his arms, flicking the light off and heading down the hall back into the bedroom at the end of the hallway, placing her down in bed and pressing a kiss to her hairline. She's already half-asleep by the time he slips under the cover next to her.

 

He doesn't even realize it when he ends up slipping his arm beneath her pillow to wrap around her shoulders, letting her roll into his embrace a little more. It's natural, like many of the other things he's grown to do around her.

 

But he does realize when her left leg slips in between his legs, and this feels oddly domestic, like they've been doing this for their entire lives. He wants to say it now, to whisper those three damn words and get it over with, to have her hear them, to allow her to drink it in, but those words die on his tongue before he can even think about telling her yet. There's a tingle beneath his skin, not enough for him to shiver, but just enough for him to notice.

 

He wakes earlier than the alarm set on his phone, only to find Emma's face buried in her pillow with her hands beneath it. Perhaps it's the vast amount of sunlight coming through her window at the moment, and to be fair, she's never been much of a morning person as he. Just that thought makes his heart swell because one day (hopefully), he'll be the one bringing in breakfast or trying to wake her up with his simple touches and soft kisses, or perhaps words uttered quietly of how much he loves her. And for a second, he knows he's already thinking ahead of himself, maybe asking for too much, so he shoves the idea into the corner of his brain for a later date to come.

 

"Mmm, what time is it?" Emma asks, voice muffled from the pillow.

 

"Early," he replies, smiling, watching her flip onto her side to face him. "Summer is approaching quickly, sun rises early."

 

"Not that I don't like the sun, or you, but why are you up so early?"

 

He chuckles his thumbs brushing beneath the fading dark bags under her eyes. "No clue," he answers. "Just go back to sleep, love."

 

"You need to go in a little over two hours, I don't think I want to spend that time sleeping instead of enjoying some quality time."

 

"You need the sleep," he insists, frowning slightly at her lacking desire for more rest that she clearly requires. "I'm not going to leave without waking you up, Swan, that'd be bad form."

 

She yawns and he glares at her with his correct statement, but she refuses to sleep, so he just gives up on trying to convince her into getting more shut-eye. He manages to shower while she makes coffee and some toast for some grilled cheese, and neither of them really favor their current circumstances, but really, he's not complaining - at least he gets time to spend with her on occasions.

 

They eat on the couch, but he checks his phone once in awhile for the time, only to find that it feels like yet another disappointment when he has to leave.

 

.~.

 

Being spotted at the airport sucks, well, mainly because he's on a deadline here for his flight time - there's not many leisurely moments given for him to stop and sign something, or even take a quick photo.

 

Besides the quickest peck on the lips, he's rushing past security and down the tunnel that leads to his flight, luckily to be seated in a nice aisle. With nice people.

 

And being on an airplane for so long without much to keep you productive, what else is there besides thinking and sleeping? Well, surely plenty of other options to explore, but Killian doesn't have much of an option for those two. He feels almost deflated on his seat with his eyes shut, thinking about the two days (and like, one tenths) of a day he's spent with Emma. He fought for her, which was enough to at least reassure her, once again, that he'd not be going anywhere soon. Plus, a nice date and their latter activities are still very much a memory he's yet to forget - at all.

 

If Emma is somehow his undoing, he doesn't care.

 

The bloody woman is everything to him, besides his own musical career of course. But if he'd have to give up his current position for her, he'd do so in the blink of an eye. Which doesn't even surprise him anymore, considering how deep he's fallen in this pit for her.

 

Their relationship isn't seamless, hell, it's far from that, but as long as he loves her, as long as he wants to fight for her, he's going to keep going until the day he no longer can. Which, of course, he hopes is a day that never actually comes to be reality.

 

He's thoroughly exhausted from his plane flight when they finally land, managing to locate his phone and text Emma that he's landed safely. It's something he's always done with her, some sense of security and reassurance. It's always effectively done a good job at what its purpose is, though.

 

**_Killian: Back in Ireland, safe and sound._ **

 

Of course he doesn’t worry about how she doesn’t or won’t respond immediately sometimes. But their little problem has been solved and honestly, he feels like he can finally sleep and get through the day without having to look forward to visiting under crappy circumstances.

 

It turns out that there’s paparazzi waiting outside the gate of his house. It’s inevitable to avoid them.

 

“Mr. Jones, rumours say you and your girlfriend had a disagreement!”

 

He sighs, keeping his face flat, only to smile for convincing reasons. “Rumours are rumours, wouldn’t you doubt the legitimacy of them?” It’s not intentional that he wants to fake anything.

 

“Does that rumoured disagreement explain why you took two days out of your schedule to fly to Boston? You were spotted at the Logan International Airport,” another one asks.

 

“I took two days out of my schedule to visit her, yes. Long distance is difficult, but I endeavour to make it work, despite busy schedules.” He answers a couple more of their pending inquiries, only soon to shut them down. “Apologies, ladies and gentleman, but I’ve got a job to get back to.”

 

Luckily, the reporters let him through without further questioning. He’s realized his phone has vibrated in his pocket while he was being questioned over and over, but taking it out would’ve meant giving the press and media more attention to his relationship with Emma, and privacy is a big factor to them at the moment. There are boundaries he still doesn’t want to overstep, and publicly announcing their little argument would’ve been stepping past it.

 

When he’s inside the house, he flicks the light in the kitchen on, leaving his suitcase sitting by the front door. Killian quickly grabs his phone out of his pocket.

 

**_Emma: Good._ **

 

He smiles despite how vague her message is (he knows there’s more to her message behind it, but sometimes one word can speak a million more).

 

**_Killian: See you soon._ **

 

Her answer is immediate now; he wonders if she’s been looking forward to it.

 

**_Emma: You’re welcome to come barging into my apartment anytime._ **

 

.~.

 

“So, you’ve solved everything with Emma, then?” Robin asks.

 

Killian nods, casually strumming the strings of the guitar without any reason. “Bloody bloke said something that made her do so.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “If I ever come across him, I’d very much like to punch him in the face.”

 

“Who’s the bloke?” Will and Robin both ask.

 

“Ben Reese.”

 

Robin’s eyes widen at the familiarity. “Emma dated him?”

 

“Yes. No -” he groans, “- it’s complicated.” He sighs, bringing his hand up to scrub his face. “Ben used to go under a different name, Neal. She dated _him_.”

 

“So what, he got an identity change?” Robin questions, digging deeper into the details.

 

Killian trusts them as much as he trusts Emma. “He has a _less_ than innocent past, if anything, he wanted to start fresh and swap to good side of the law, so aye, an identity change.”

 

“Isn’t he under Regina’s management?”

 

“Yeah,” Kilian answers. “It’s tempting to call him out, but Regina would attempt and strike us down - she’s never really liked us in the first place.” He runs a hand through his hair, biting his lower lip. “Last thing we need is them trying to pull something scandalous on us.”

 

All of them collectively sigh. Robin and Regina may have a thing for each other, but Killian’s unsure if that would help at all.

 

It’s better if they keep quiet about this information. Either way, Neal must be surprised enough that Emma Swan and Killian Jones aren’t broken apart from his pathetic attempt. Whatever he’s said, whether small or large, hurt Emma somehow, twisted her knowledge, and that is an offense enough for Killian to dislike him even more.

 

He’s never talked to him face to face, but he’d very much like to _not_ him interfere with his relationship with Emma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? (:


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: apologies for such the delay, all these prompts sitting in my inbox (on tumblr) have become my life. and this chapter was done for a long time, i just forgot... this hits the M-rated bit - it’s not very excessive. skip if you'd like.

The next few months pass like a flash, both of them keeping in contact mainly through phone calls and Skype video calls. Usually, one of them is exhausted by the end of the call, having to go, or one of them has other work to tend to, cutting their video calls short. But he sees her smiling more, hears her rich laughter without anything forced beneath it.

 

In fact, he’s recently found himself laughing so hard, tears spring to his eyes. He knows that feeling goes both ways. He knows that they’re finally having some peace. Whether Neal is an issue or not, that’s not one he’s going to concern himself with for now. Not unless he chooses to surface up and attempt to harm their budding relationship again.

 

Killian doesn’t know how his managers handle it, but they fend off their relationship from the tabloids, and really, it’s magical. (Truly is beneficial when they’re friends to both sides.)

 

By the end of the year, promotion over their new album being released in the next month is _huge_. Everything gets out of control, quite hectic.

 

But the good thing is that he’ll be traveling a bit to the US for some interviews. One of those locations will be in Boston – for a few days, but a few day no less.

 

“When?” she asks eagerly.

 

He chuckles, adjusting his position on his bed before bringing the laptop to his knees. “Soon, love. Perhaps two weeks? You can wait, right?”

 

“Now I’ll be looking forward to it,” she says, “which means time will feel like it’s going by slower.”

 

“That is most unfortunate then, Swan.”

 

She raises an eyebrow, cocking her head to the side in that adorable way. “You don’t say?”

 

“Oh, such _pitiful_ circumstances, love,” he mocks, shooting her a smirk, watching her roll her eyes. “How was your day?”

 

“Bloody exhausting,” she mutters.

 

Booming laughter erupts from him, hearing her use such a term like that. “Did Ruby make you take over all the shifts or something?”

 

“No, I’m just toggling between two jobs, actually.” She sighs, her hand running through her hair from the moment, pushing it away from her face. “And you know, it’s not easy. People notice me more, not a lot, but _more_ than before this all started. And these people talk. I’m just glad that I got this job – I get to help other teens and kids.”

 

He clenches his jaw, the fact that she’s going between two jobs, that’s it’s been hard for her. “Something related with social services?”

 

“Based on foster care, yeah.” She yawns, rubbing her eyes. “I mean, it feels good though. I understand them so it’s a lot easier for me to communicate without making them feel pressured or uncomfortable. Some of the kids even recognize me as _Killian Jones’s_ girlfriend.” She laughs quietly, noticing her shift a little in her sitting position, the camera wobbling and losing focus for a moment. “All of them are pretty enthusiastic about who I am though.”

 

At least he can smile at that. “Sounds wonderful. I bet you’re bloody marvelous at your job.”

 

“Nah, I think I’m average.”

 

“I beg to differ,” he retaliates, cocking an eyebrow up, his head hitting the headboard behind him. “You can connect with them, love. You’ve been where they are, you can empathize better than anyone else when it comes to your given situation. I’m sure these children and adolescents appreciate you greatly for the help you offer them.” He grins, genuinely, _proudly_. “Never doubt or sell yourself short, sweetheart. You’re a beautiful, loving, strong lass.”

 

For the slightest moment, he thinks he’s overstepped the line with that, but even through laptop cameras, he notices her face soften at his words, a small smile gracing her face. “Thank you,” she says, and it’s sincere, and honest thanks.

 

“You know, it seems you don’t get complimented enough,” he murmurs, the mic on his laptop still catching onto that.

 

“I’m _not_ , that’s why I suck with responding to them!”

He hums thoughtfully. “Well, you should be sure you check your texts when I send you one.”

 

“Why do I feel like you’re gonna do something sappy?”

 

“Perhaps I might.”

 

.~.

 

He knows her favourite cupcakes; he knows her favourite colour; he knows her favourite days of the week; he knows she doesn’t like to celebrate her birthday in any extravagant manner; he knows making a difference in young people’s livers matter to her; he knows she’s proud of him. So many of these things are the smallest details, but he knows they matter more than the bigger picture.

 

On some days, she’ll get the present he sent to her through the mail or get a message from him that’ll tell her she’s beautiful and lovely and that he hopes she’ll have a marvelous day. Killian thinks these matter greatly to her – no one’s ever done it before – and he’s not wrong, she does think it matters. “Thank you, Killian – really,” she’ll usually say, a little emotion in her voice.

 

And if he wasn’t so far away, he’d fold her in his arms and keep her until the days run out.

 

.~.

 

It’s the way she lights up and slips her way through other people, the way her lips part and she’s running, the way she practically throws herself into him when they meet again after the two weeks of dreadful waiting is up. He buries his face to the side of her neck, breathing in her scent, his arms wrapped tightly around her while their pictures are surely to be pasted all over the tabloids. That doesn’t matter though, of course it doesn’t.

 

“I missed you,” she murmurs, letting her arms fall back so she can look at him.

 

He smiles his biggest smile, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “As did I,” he responds.

And yes, they are very much published all over the magazines, all over the internet. Headlines stating “ _Sweet Reunion of Killian Jones and his Girlfriend_.” It’s not too much, he realizes, when she simply smiles a small smile, shaking her head and whispering it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s with her.

 

Witnessing her pure, utter joy leaves him knowing how much he _really_ loves her for who she is, despite the pain and torture she’s been through as a child. That despite her insistence of wondering how she even _deserves_ him, it doesn’t shove him in the opposite direction, only for him to convince her that she’s everything he’ll ever need.

 

They spend their time wisely.

 

He takes her out on another small date, captured once again by entertainment news.

He takes her out shopping, despite the amount of people screaming his name and desiring for autographs and photos.

 

They make dinner _together_ , only ending up with her pressed against the counter with the both of them laughing because they burnt something in the oven or if the water has been over boiled on the stove.

He knows Neal is still out there, possibly devising a plan to ruin them. Or even better, he’s possibly walked off because of seeing their happiness plastered all over media and any sort of news. At least, that’s what they expect before news says he’s been caught “hanging out” with a woman whose name is _Tamara_.

 

“You okay, love?”

 

She turns to him, putting up a smile he knows is somewhat fake. Not completely, but somewhat. “Yeah.”

“No lies,” he reminds her, making sure to keep his voice soft. “If this is bothering you, you can tell me. We both know exes aren’t the easiest things to handle.”

 

“I know, Killian,” she murmurs, sighing and perching on the edge of the bed. “I also owe you an explanation before we had that argument – you know, what Neal said to me?”

 

“You don’t have to yet,” he tells her, crouching down in front of her, taking her hands in his. Killian rubs his thumb over the back of her hand in a soothing way. But the way she stays silent, takes a deep breath, and shakes her head, he knows she’s not going to stop. So he lets her speak, gives her the attention.

 

“Tell me, then,” he murmurs.

 

She nibbles on her lower lip before beginning. “He told me I’d never be good enough,” she says firmly, voice not wavering. “It’s nothing that I’ve never heard before, but coming from him, it hurts a little more close to home than anything else. Said I’d never make a good life out of singing and playing the piano at a bar, said that you’d give me up the moment you…knew.”

 

There’s something she hasn’t told him, and perhaps it’s another one of those deep, dark secrets. The one that hurts more than a jackass boyfriend who threw her into jail, the one who gave her false hope.

 

“I…” She gulps, her hands tightening on his. “I had a kid.”

 

“Had.”

 

“Yeah,” she huffs, one hand coming out of his grasp to pinch the bridge of her nose, “ _had_.”

 

He tries to think of something else to say, anything but a stupid, overused and senseless apology, but nothing comes up. “I’m so sorry,” he states genuinely, standing up and pulling her into him.

 

“He’s…he’s alive, somewhere. I gave him up,” she elaborates, voice muffled into his chest. “I couldn’t do it, couldn’t be a mother. You know why? I didn’t even _have_ parents, how was I supposed to be one, let alone in jail, and be a mother? I shouldn’t have told Neal about him that day he came. It just… I sorta blurted it out because I was enraged.”

 

“So, no threats?” he asks for assurance. She shakes her head. “He just wanted to intimidate you, then. As big of a bastard as he was, I’m sure he has some decency to leave us alone now.” He sighs, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “Besides, he looks _quite_ content with the woman he’s with, and I’m very, _very_ content with the woman he decided to leave behind.”

 

She smiles, tilting her head up. Killian dips down, just a little bit, and captures her lips in his. It grows to something more, however, a line they’ve yet to cross despite the months of being together.

 

“Swan?”

 

“I’m done waiting. I’m sure, Killian, just… _please_.”

 

The _please_ gets him.

 

His hands slide down her sides, removing the long sleeve shirt she’s wearing, hands brushing her soft, bare skin. Suddenly, his jeans feel a little tighter than usual, the denim fabric constricting the ache and _need_ he has for her. It doesn’t take long for them to undress each other, her unbuckling and flinging his belt, the sound hitting the carpeted floor with a dull thud, his jeans pooling around his ankles after being unzipped and unbuttoned.

 

She smirks like a bloody _temptress_. He raises a brow, stepping out and kicking his jeans away, leaning forward and kissing her again, harder this time, while his fingers unclasp her bra, throwing it across the bedroom.

 

“Bloody hell,” he grumbles against her lips when he feels her hand make contact with the fabric of his briefs, his hands tightening on the bedsheets beneath them. “Not yet, love,” he tells her, pinning against the mattress.

 

It doesn’t take long for him to find all her sensitive spots, his hands busy with her breasts, lips nipping at a spot behind her ear, one right by her collarbone, and at her shoulders.

 

He is fully awarethis isn’t _just_ sex.

 

“Killian.”

 

He grins against her skin. “Aye, darling, I know.”

 

She’s a demanding lass when she _wants_ something or someone, he learns. She’s hot beneath him, she’s tight and wonderful, and it’s _more_ than he’s ever actually imagined. Reality seems to pale in comparison this time around. It’s a quick motion when he finds the condom in the first drawer, chucking his briefs away and slipping the latex material on. However, he takes her time at first, lining himself up with her before he jerks his hips forward.

 

They move at a standard pace, feeling her hot, short pants against his skin, feeling her nails scratch at his back (surely there will be remains of those for the next while), but the pain doesn’t matter to him. Then he can feel her hands trail up toward his shoulders when they shift a bit, her grip tightening as he speeds up.

Killian Jones _will_ cherish all of her, will comply to her needs when necessary, will hold back and be a gentleman, will love her, and of course, will keep her happy.

 

She reaches her high before he does, only to thrust a few more times before he’s out of breath and practically laying on top of her. He hears her quiet whimper when he pulls out from her, removing the protection of the condom. He kisses her cheek softly before heading to the washroom to dispose of the item, returning with a warm wash cloth for Emma.

 

They’re both spent after that.

 

He tucks her in, wishing her a good night’s rest while he restlessly picks up all of their clothing everywhere, setting them on the chair in the corner near her laptop. He only slips his briefs back on before heading to the washroom, brushing his teeth and returning to bed, climbing in and pulling her close to him.

 

“I love you,” he whispers.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

It’s faint, it’s quiet, but he hears it loud and clear in his ears.

 

He smiles, burying his face into her hair, for a moment, which smells of her shampoo, the smell so familiar and lovely that he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life in this current position they share.

 

A feeling hits him, her leg slightly thrown over his as she shifts a little.

 

This is love, he knows, when he reaches over her and pulls on the string, turning the lamp off.

 

.~.

 

There’s never been someone in his life, besides Liam and Elsa, so supportive of what he does now. He’s never had anyone attend his interviews and stay behind the camera, smiling and happy for what he’s doing in his life. And he likes it, he likes how Emma is the first person to do that for him, to stand there with pure love, to be so delighted and enthusiastic about his answers. He knows now it will _always_ be her; it will always be Emma Swan.

 

She opens up more to him. They both say those three words more often – more like every chance they get. She’s even stronger now, braver, _happier_ than how she was back in the days when he first met her. She doesn’t have that lingering look of pain, she holds a firm, brilliant look in her eyes saying _this is Emma Swan, this is who I am_.

 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, love.”

 

She tilts her head. “What is it?”

 

“Come on tour with us – if it happens, of course.”

 

Her eyes widen at his proposal. “Are you serious? Can you even _fit_ me into that? What am I gonna do while you guys do sound checks? What if -”

 

“Emma, love, you’re rambling.” He chuckles, giving her hands a squeeze. “We can figure that all out, Swan, you needn’t worry. There’s still plenty of months until the possibility of our next tour. The album is to be released in a week. If songs blow the charts and satisfies the hunger of fans, I want you to come with us. You can _perform_ with us, Swan.”

 

“What? No way,” she quickly denies with a shake of her head, “not performing, I can’t do that.”

“Emma.” His hands move to rest at her shoulders. “You’ve performed in front of groups of people at the bar, you can do this. Piano or singing, either would be enough. We won’t always perform our own original songs, perhaps some covers which you can participate in.”

 

“But, this is a humongous _crowd_.”

 

“With three men surrounding you.”

 

She scoffs. “Right, like that helps.”

 

He cocks his head to the side, laughing. “It does!” he exclaims. “Besides, the fans probably may not even pay attention to you.”

 

“Yes, my hot boyfriend gets all the attention,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “Okay, fine,” she eventually says, giving in to the idea. “I’ll have to tell Ruby and Ashley about this though so I can take time off from work for this.”

 

“You’ll be paid, too,” he tells her, knowing she’d probably still need the money. “Sufficient enough, I assure you. Rent and everything will be handled accordingly, you don’t need to worry about any of those facts. I’ll get in contact with Dave and Mary Margaret to make an addition when the time comes.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

 

“Believe, Swan,” he whispers quietly in a teasing voice.

 

“Oh, shut up,” she mutters, hitting his arm playfully.

 

.~.

 

“Benefits of a man with money and persuasion abilities -” he grabs her suitcase, flinging it open on her bed, “- he gets to waste it spoiling the woman he’s with. Number one on that list was bribing Ruby to give you a month off and for you to come back to Ireland with me when we’re done this promotion tour. You’ll work with the band, enjoy the scenery you so liked the first time around, and of course, every day with the company of _me_.”

 

“Of course Ruby gave me an entire month off,” she mutters. “Who’s gonna pay the rent for me when I’m gone?”

 

“Oh, well…” He bites his lower lip, scratching behind his ear. “Perhaps I’ve already paid the next three rents ahead of time.”

 

“Killian!” she shouts, scolding him. “You _didn’t_.”

 

“Oops?” He chuckles, shrugging. “Come on, love, pack everything you need. And for your information, the landlord is quite generous and kind.”

 

He kisses her goodbye later that day, meeting the rest of the gang at the airport before heading off to the next location. So far, the promotion for the upcoming album has been going well. He, for one, can’t wait for Emma to hear it and understand where all his inspiration comes from. He’s still happy they’ve finally said _I love you_ to each other.

 

Knowing his love is something, hearing it exchanged, in truth, is completely different.

 

Their flight gets delayed so they end up in comfy airport lounges, having to let 2 hours slide before the next flight becomes available. Fortunately, bringing his phone charger along is the best possible way to survive during the boredom he gets faced with. It allows him to text Emma the entire time, check on how she’s doing.

 

**_Killian: Flight delayed. 2 hours. How’re you doing?_ **

 

**_Emma: You saw me an hour ago left on the couch with a glass of wine and Netflix._ **

 

He laughs quietly, shaking his head, typing.

 

**_Killian: Doesn’t mean my favourite person isn’t doing something else since the last time I saw her. Come on, I’m bored._ **

 

**_Emma: That’s your fault, not mine. Talk to the boys._ **

 

**_Killian: Will is half-asleep and Robin is making small-talk with some strangers but looks like he’s on the edge of sleep as well. Excuse me for not wanting to engage in either of those possible options, Swan._ **

****

**_Emma: Neither of them used to jet lag, huh?_ **

 

**_Killian: Well, they don’t travel as often as I. I have a perfectly good reason to, and now I’ve become essentially immune to jet lag._ **

 

They continue like that for another hour before they start calling in all flyers. He tells her he’ll talk later before getting past security and heading into the tunnel, boarding his flight.

 

.~.

His plan on plane rides?

 

Sleep. Eat. Repeat.

 

Really, that’s the only way he goes about his plane rides. (And perhaps talk with Robin or Will if they’re seated near him.)

 

It gives him time to recuperate energy and store it all the same from the food, a sure-fire way of making himself seem presentable by the time he has to be sitting in front of a camera being filmed, or in front of others such as the interviewers. It’s important to keep a clean look, so really, it’s just getting rest and eating healthily. Plus exercise. But being on the constant move doesn’t allow too much opportunity to exercise.

 

But sometimes, there are other things, such as discussing the song list for tours, planning out the generality of everything with David and Mary Margaret. A singer or musician doesn’t just sing or make music; true, it is a part of it, but there’s still serious business to take care of for the well-being of the artist himself. And Killian, being the leader of band, means he’s got to handle some things the other two don’t take part in.

 

Killian…he’s not much of a procrastinator. He prefers getting the stuff done before so he doesn’t have to constantly stress over not getting something complete on deadline. It’s a good habit he’s developed over the years, mainly from his experience in college.

 

By the time he’s up and running around again, he finds he has very little time to talk with Emma. It feels like every day he’s either flying or on a private bus, moving from state to city and back.

 

  
For now, he just reminds himself of her going to stay with him for an entire _month_ , tour or not. _Bloody hell_ , he’s got many plans in store for that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm a piece of shit and took forever to update. I'm so sorry.

Bloody reporters that pick at his love life is a pain in the arse. Really.

 

**_Killian: How public would you like for me to speak out on our relationship?_ **

 

**_Emma: That can be up to you. Just don't announce big declarations yet?_ **

 

**_Killian: Of course. Just checking in, love…and I love you._ **

 

**_Emma: Moron. Love you, too._ **

 

He sighs happily, locking his phone and sticking it into his pocket before running a hand through his hair to brush it away from his face, waiting for Robin to return from the restroom so they can get on with the interview.

 

Will shakes his head and Killian bumps his shoulders. “What?”

 

“Nothing, ya just seem happier than any time I’ve seen you happy since I’ve known ya.”

 

“You know the reason for that, mate.”

 

Will just nods, a smile on his face. “That I do.”

 

Despite how Will is sometimes a troublemaker, he is nothing but a loyal friend who’s always up for some beer or rum and TV. Or simply just heading out. He’s been friend with him since college, rooming together and all. Robin came later when Will introduced him, and soon enough, they combined together their musical talents and became a band which is flying off the charts.

 

Absolutely not something they thought that would happen.

 

When Robin returns, the crew hustles to get everything ready. He’s squeezed between Will and Robin, well, not exactly _squeezed_ , but sitting between them on a comfy leather couch. (Leather couches are simply the worst during summer time, though.)

 

The cameras start to roll and the interviewer asks them how they all are, and of course they all answer that with ease. Interviews and attention like this, the promoting, hasn’t ever been the best part. It’s the touring; the amount of places they get to visit, the faces of so many people they get to meet. It’s the stories he hears of how their music helps someone get through their day.

 

After all, if it wasn’t for the touring, he would have never met Emma, probably. (Unless David or Mary Margaret had intentions of introducing her back then.)

 

“So, Killian, things seem serious between you and your girlfriend.”

 

It sounds more like a statement than a question, but he still nods to it and smiles, just thinking of her. “Aye, we’re quite serious. I’m very lucky I got the chance to meet her, also thankful she let me get to know her. She’s a wonderful lass; she’s a beautiful woman, inside out.” He knows better than to say _I love her_ at the moment. That will likely draw too much media back on them, even though he _does_ love her.

 

Then the questions continue on from his relationship to the album and their own thoughts. “Think you guys can describe the album in one word?”

 

All Killian manages to muster up is: “Soulful.”

.~.

The tabloids are pasting Emma’s little trip back to Ireland all over. It’s photos of the both holding hands while he drags her suitcase, a stupid smile on the both of their faces. If she hates this attention, he’d really be willing to give it all up to make sure she’s happy and comfortable. Fame is one thing, but love is a complete other, and he really would give it up for the right woman. And everything in the world is telling him Emma Swan is the right woman.

 

Sure they spend weeks to months away from each other with nothing but some technology connecting them, sure he’s traveling all over America and other major countries without bringing her along, but _god_ , all of that is going to change very soon.

 

The more he thinks about it, the more he just wants to have a home with her. He wants to be able to come _home_ and wrap his arms around her and kiss her until they're sweaty and sated; he wants to be able to come _home_ and see her grabbing herself a cheap beer from the fridge to sit down in front of the TV; he wants to be able to come _home_ and draw a warm bath which the both of them can sink in; he wants to come _home_ to her. If his home is a person, then he doesn't ever want them to leave, because what if that person is gone?

 

Killian Jones is a big dreamer, ambitious nowadays ever since Emma barged into his life, because her support makes him feel like he can accomplish anything he sets his mind to.

 

The house has essentially been the same thing for the months she's been gone and in Boston. Long distance really turns the difficulty a notch up, but it's so satisfying to see her smile when she drags her suitcase into his - _their_ \- room, ignoring the guest bedroom she first stayed in. Just from that, he tackles her onto the bed in gleeful laughter, bouncing from the drop of their bodies onto the mattress while she's pinned below him.

 

"Bloody hell, I've missed you so much, Emma."

 

"I've missed you, too," she says, smiling up at him.

 

Her smile lights up his entire day, and he isn't ever exaggerating that fact. It's like she's his angel, his saviour, and he's damn well enamored by this woman. She is both his weakness and his strength, the day to his night, and the stars to his entire universe.

 

(Cliché, but merely the truth.)

 

"So how was your flight?"

 

"Exhausting, as usual. I get why Robin and Will are always tired now, I don't blame them." She chuckles, her fingers running through his hair. "I don't get it, how do you do it?"

 

"Flight after flight." He grins, loving the way her fingers thread through his hair, a common gesture she actively exhibits when she's around him. It's essentially a habit. "Just for you, love."

 

He's gotten to know her so well, he knows she's not usually one for anything sappy or gooey like romantic movies are or the true love between David and Mary Margaret, but he can't help it sometimes. Killian never blames her for what she likes and prefers since he knows where she comes from, where she's still a little guarded and a little terrified of some aspects in their relationship.

 

"Dork."

 

Killian lifts an eyebrow at her acclamation, promptly shaking his head a little and kissing her nose. "I see that you're trying to stay awake, but you should know you're miserably failing."

 

"Hey, the flight was tiring, okay?"

 

"Of course, Swan." He manages to push himself off from her with a light bounce. "Of course."

 

She frowns, all childlike and playfully. "You sound far too unconvinced," she grumbles.

 

"Hey, I'm just joking around." He drops the jokes, smiling down at her before adjusting his gaze over toward the clock on the nightstand. It's not very late at the moment, but her flight was quite early from her timezone. "Would you fancy a nap while I go make us dinner?"

 

Emma has already dug herself into the bed and below the covers, mumbling something incoherent that sounds something among the _okay, thanks_ , except he can't hear or really _see_ her anymore, and from what he can tell, she must really like this bed. (Or she's really as tired as she says she is.)

 

(Nah, he'll stick to the first excuse.)

 

Usually, he never eats anything in bed since he's a usual neat freak, not enjoying things lying around freely, or having crumbs of food litter his couch or his bed, but he makes an exception by the time he's done cooking. Emma hasn't even made a peep of a noise since she'd been given reign over the bed to take a nap, and it's just hit the one hour mark.

 

There's some baked chicken, fried rice, and a soup he'd actually just been playing with for most of the time. He's never really changed any of his soup recipes, but tonight, with a little extra flavour and spices, he'd been able to conjure up something he likes for sure.

 

Sorting food out onto a platter, he knocks on the bedroom door before entering. "Room service."

 

Her groan is the one she always elicits when woken up from deep sleep in the mornings, the exact same replica this time around. It's a little past 8 now, but this is a meal necessary.

 

He knows she despises airplane food, so she _needs_ to eat.

 

"Come on, Swan, you've got to settle your hunger tonight."

 

"No, I don't."

 

"Emma Swan, don't you try to bloody lie when I know how much you dislike the food they serve on planes." He sets the platter on the desk in the corner of his room and moves back to drag the comforter off of her, stifling laughter at how stubborn she is tonight. She's never been this stubborn before. "Up and at 'em, there's baked chicken, fried rice, and soup. Home baked and cooked, all for you."

 

"So you ate without me?" Emma asks, no actual drop of hurt in her voice.

 

"Ate before I picked you up, darling." He watches her sit up in bed and rub her eyes, before blinking the sleep out of them and smiling lazily. "You can sleep all you want later, though. Just eat. But perhaps not too much sleep, otherwise I can't have my time with you."

 

"Sleeping _with_ me counts, doesn't it?"

 

Unbelievable - his Swan. Shaking his head, he brings the platter over to her and lets her balance it out in front of herself.

 

.~.

 

It is essentially impossible to avoid any paparazzi now that their relationship is so...public.

 

But, he makes himself sure that they have some form of privacy, even if it means having all the curtains and blinds drawn in darkness while they busy themselves in front of the fireplace or back in bed, because lord knows how desperate someone can get for a photo to shove onto tabloids.

 

One night, he finds himself with Emma encompassed by his arms in the backyard patio, her feet splashing about in the water while she leans into his back. He’s simply content to have an arm tucked against her middle, breathing in her scent from behind.

 

“You’re like my human heater.”

 

“That sounds awfully horrible in some ways, love.”

 

She elbows him gently in the stomach and he snickers, pulling her tighter against him while his other hand rests on her thigh.

 

“Couldn’t take that for a compliment, could you?” she asks.

 

He grins, pressing his nose against the side of her neck. “Mmmm.” He sighs softly and eventually says, “I’m flattered and beyond honoured to be your human heater.”

 

They fall back into the comfortable silence as it is enjoying the beautiful weather (free from rain, _finally_ ). The small moments, like these, make the best memories - at least in his mind.

 

“As much as I’d love to stay out here, your brother and Elsa have invited us to dinner,” she mumbles, leaning her head back to look up at him. “I don’t think they’d be happy if we ditched out on them the first time we finally get to have that dinner.”

 

He grumbles something incoherent before he nods. “Aye,” he agrees quietly, pushing himself back before offering her a hand to be pulled up. “Interested in handling a little boy?”

 

“I already deal with a little boy every day, I think your nephew will be no problem.”

 

“ _Oi_ , Swan!”

 

.~.

 

If he could describe exactly how he feels, it’s...actually, that’s hard. Everything is perfect.

 

Michael likes Emma better than he likes his own Uncle _Killy_ , so whatever that means for him...well, he can’t be mad at his nephew for liking her. How can someone not like her?

 

Liam and Elsa _love_ her.

 

“Have you thought about it yet?”

 

“What?” Killian asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“You know,” Liam says, “marriage.” His voice drops on that last bit.

 

Frankly, Killian has considered it - they’ve been together for several months now, almost an entire year, but he’s not...he doesn’t...he doesn’t _know_ , know.

 

“Definitely a thought that’s crossed my mind before,” he admits quietly, watching Emma and Elsa coddle up with little Michael. “But we haven’t discussed any of that yet, considering I’ve only just pounced on her with the one month visit here.”

 

“You let your lady set the pace, don’t you?”

 

“Aye.” Killian grins just at the sight before turning to face Liam. “You did too.”

 

“You’re right about that.”

 

The pat on his back causes him to bend forward, and Liam laughs at him. Killian scowls at his brother before Michael’s up and running at him, colliding with his legs, and that’s when he falls backwards, falling on his ass on the carpet.

 

At least his tailbone is intact.

 

“Ow, Michael!”

 

“Sorry, Uncle Killy!” Michael quickly apologizes, kneeling next to him.

 

“Killian, you okay?”

 

He looks to Emma who’s wearing a worried expression on her face while she’s offering a hand to him (which he gladly accepts). “Aye, I’m alright,” he says, standing up and stretching himself out. “Or so I think, at least.”

 

“Try not to fall next time,” she whispers later in his ear during the dinner, hand squeezing his thigh. “I want you in one piece.”

 

If he nearly spits out his food and chokes, that’s entirely his fault.

 

.~.

 

They both stumble back into the house late that night, no effort to properly align their shoes by the side of the door like how he usually insists. Sock-clad feet slide on the hardwood floors, both of them trudging into the bedroom before changing and heading into the washroom to get themselves cleaned up for the night.

 

Killian watches her from the bed as she removes one last earring before climbing into bed with him. He smiles at her. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

 

“Yeah. Your family is great.”

 

“You know my family is yours,” he says genuinely, brushing his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Elsa and Liam absolutely adore you, and there's no need to discuss the likes of my nephew. His fingers are wrapped around you more than myself."

 

While her eyes may roll dramatically, she knows it's simply the truth. "He's a good kid." Emma shrug casually, pulling the covers over her shoulders before pressing her face to his shoulder. "I like good kids."

 

"You like most kids," Killian retorts.

 

"No, I don't."

 

"Are we _really_ going to discuss this?"

 

"No," she said, "not tonight, at least. Michael wore me out - that kid is like a battery that never runs out." Conveniently, she yawns right then, muffled by his shoulder. "Now, can we sleep?"

 

Killian chuckles, his hand finding one of hers beneath the covers as he tangles their fingers together, loosely holding onto her hand. "Aye," he murmurs, "we can sleep."

 

He's also recognized from the times before when she's asleep, when she's faking her sleep, and when she isn't at all and she's awake and staring at nothing.  He finds that Emma falls into slumber quickly, faster than ever before, and he smiles to himself, knowing that Michael must have really killed off all the energy she originally had in the first place. That kid is like a never-ending motor though, constantly running until the last second when he passes out.

 

It feels like the night passes by so quickly, that the amount of hours they sleep don't even feel like hours. Surprisingly, he wakes up to an empty bed; he reaches over, patting the vacant spot on the bed, realizing it's still somewhat warm and not entirely cold.

 

But _then_ , he hears the water running and he's aware she's showering. So, while she showers, he'll cook up a breakfast. As soon as he's out of the bed, of course, but that may take a while considering he's still half-asleep and daydreaming about the family he could have that could fill up this home or another house. Long distance doesn't work easily, but Killian is fully dedicated to this relationship, meaning he'd give up anything - the fame and the money - to have a regular, typical life full of love with Emma.

 

What he doesn't expect as of yet is for Emma to feel the same way as him. For someone like her, he thinks she may be hesitant on the idea of children. He knows there is probably no way in the world she would give up her jobs and friends back in Boston for a life here with him in Ireland. Putting it that way, it may seem like a one-sided relationship, but she isn't as fortunate as he is with the flexibility to do whatever. He has all the money in the world that could last him for a handful of years if he spends it wisely, he has a brother, sister-in-law and a nephew that's living their life wonderfully without any concerns.

 

But Emma has concerns - she has to worry about making it day to day with her rent. She has to deal with asshole customers at the bar while she's singing. She has to deal with the kids who need her just as much as she needed someone when she was a kid.

 

Killian doesn't expect her to give up everything as easily as he can.

 

(It doesn't mean the thought of children and a domestic life with her flees his mind completely.)

 

He wakes from those thoughts, eyes blinking open and adjusting to the light as he stares at the white ceiling above him.

 

Despite Emma being a few feet away from him in the washroom taking a shower, the bed already feels ten times emptier and colder - someone is missing, and that's his Swan. She may not be far away, but he misses her anyways. Killian can be considered a sappy, hopeless romantic, to be honest. Not that he'll ever admit that. Killian prefers the term 'gentleman.'

 

After ten more minutes in bed, he finally manages to drag his arse out of bed, and that's just when he hears the water from the shower shut off. It's probably stupid, but a smile is on his face as he moves out the master bedroom and down the hall toward the open kitchen, flicking the lights on since all the windows have been covered with blinds since the previous night before leaving for dinner. It is too dark, and even if someone catches a photo through the window by the front door, so be it.

 

He goes to pull open a majority of the curtains and blinds, the sunlight streaming in and providing more natural light, just as he turns the lights off. "Better," he huffs to himself, the warmth on his skin from the sunlight.

 

"My boyfriend talking to himself?"

 

He turns around to see Emma in a fresh set of clothes, her hair still somewhat damp. He grins. "Only a little."

 

Emma chuckles, walking up to him as his arms automatically encompass around her. They don't speak further except for a mumbled "good morning" and then kiss.

 

 _This_ is the exact kind of thing he's been dreaming of constantly, a quiet life with her that can compare to no other. Or perhaps not so quiet if a baby goes off wailing in the other room and both of them rush off.

 

He wants that life with _her_ and _her_ only.

 

"I was going to make breakfast," he says, "though I got out of bed a little later than I intended to."

 

"You know you pride yourself with being a sailor all the time, yet you cannot even wake up early without complaining."

 

"I don't _complain_ ," he mutters in insistence, shaking his head as he starts to move toward the fridge to pull out some eggs. "I'm just...stubborn in my own ways," he supplies in replacement for complaining. It's probably not the most convincing he's ever been, but it should do.

 

Emma scoffs and he turns to look at her incredulously.

  
If every morning is like this, he’ll ask for an infinity more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter until the epilogue. Hopefully I won't take half a year this time around. *prays for myself*


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go...the long, long, _long_ overdue epilogue.
> 
> hopefully it compensates for the...five?...month wait! it’s 4.3k words of fluff, so ENJOY.

It’s...well, it’s a lot. Things grow and things change, and they’ve grown and changed for the better. Living the dream of being a musician and singer is one thing, but meeting the love of your life and wanting to spend the rest of said life with them is another.

 

The album, well, _that_ blows up a few music charts, but mostly the ones in the United States. Killian and the rest isn’t all that surprised of their songs being a few hits, but he never thought it would be as much as it is, having songs on the Billboard Top 40. That’s a big achievement, something he wishes his mother could have witnessed (perhaps she’s seen from where she is now). But, at the least, his brother and sister-in-law is still there to see his success.

 

And Emma, _God_ , Emma. She’s been an absolute perfect supporter through everything. It still surprises him whenever she’s waiting on him from radio and video interviews, still surprised that she’s willing to go through all of this, to endure the popularity and bombardment and lack of privacy, all for him. He knows how difficult it was for her, yet she’s so open now, so willing, and it’s been essentially a year since he’s met her.

 

The tour is almost about to start; so much preparation is being thrown into things, and it’s been a mess of busy schedules, meetings, rehearsals, and more.

 

It’s just that he almost feels guilty for ripping Emma away from _her_ life back in Boston to come here, to be with him. It sometimes feels like he’s forced her to make it an obligation of hers to support him, but then when he begins to self-loathe back at home, she frowns and furrow her brows, shaking her head and insisting she agreed to it and she couldn’t ask to be anywhere else. Christ, he’s the luckiest man on this planet to have someone like her by his side every day.

 

.~.

 

The touring is clearly a new experience to her.

 

Robin and Will can’t stand it though. It’s not because of the constant traveling or anything like that, in fact, it has nothing to do with the tour at all...it just has to do a lot with Killian spending time with Emma. Innocent time, if he’s being frank, but of course the fact of _sharing a cramped bed_ means otherwise.

 

(They have four beds on this bus, but -

 

Why sleep in another bed?)

 

“You’re lucky we love you, Emma,” Robin says, leaning back and taking a sip from his beer. “Otherwise we would’ve kicked you _and_ Killian off this bus.”

 

Killian glares at him but Emma laughs and he turns his head to look at her. “You find that funny, don’t you, love?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, I laughed,” she responds, leaning against his side more.

 

This lounging area fits the four of them easily.

 

(He remembers arguing with David all about having Emma in the same bus as them as if it were yesterday. Damn he doesn’t regret a thing.)

 

He hums softly, his fingers brushing her shoulder. “It’s surprising that Will hasn’t decided to drink himself into oblivion yet because of us.”

 

“Oh, I’m on the verge to do so, mate,” Will grumbles, looking at them both. Then he turns his head and looks at Robin, who seems just as amused as everybody else is. “Can’t keep their hands off each other, don’t you think, Locksley?”

 

Robin freezes from taking a drink from his beer, narrowing his eyes. “I know it’s a tad unbearable, but they’re a couple, Will. Get bloody used to it, because I’m about used to it now.”

 

“You’ll understand one day, Scarlet,” Killian says with a smirk, tilting his head to the side while she squeezes Emma’s shoulder.

 

Love is like poetry. It can follow a pattern and rhythm or it can be as free as it wants to, but the poem itself is beautiful regardless, and that’s how he sees his love with Emma. There are the good and the bad times, but they get through it. Emma’s grown from when he first met her, guarded and scared of loving, to someone who now loves with her entire heart so openly. Killian, he’s grown, too, mostly learning how much he’s willing to fight for this relationship with her, no matter how difficult things get.

 

Glancing behind him, he sees all the things that pass by. Mostly other cars, but there’s the sky, and it seems to be a lovely blue sky.

 

“Where are we heading toward?”

 

Killian turns his head back to Emma, looking down at her with a smile on his lips. “Boston, love.”

 

.~.

 

It doesn’t feel like home as much as it once used to. After traveling for so long with Killian, she admits to him that she doesn’t feel as nostalgic returning here, even though it’s only been just a while.

 

He smiles widely at her nonetheless. “So you mean to say you’ve found your home with me?”

 

Emma purses her lips, staring at him, but then her lips split into a smile, too, and she nods.

 

She presses her cheek against his chest, her arms sliding around his waist, and he grins even wider if that’s possible, wrapping his arms around in response, hand rubbing up and down her back as he drops a kiss to the top of her head.

 

“I’ve found home with you, too, Emma,” he murmurs.

 

.~.

 

It’s lovely to have her at the front row, right in the middle, where he can see her when he sings. Whether he’s jumping along to an energetic song, or if he’s sitting on a stool, strumming the guitar as he lets the words fall out of his mouth slowly.

 

It’s awkward, at the most, when a few of the fans ask him about his relationship with Emma, but he manages easily. He’s in love with her, that’s not a surprise, after all.

 

Overtime, it gets easier to discuss so publicly when their bond strengthens. He never says too much, though, that it would break any of their privacy. He consults her when he feels the need to, and Emma is still just as awful with words as ever, but he doesn’t care.

 

It’s a flaw of hers, but he loves every part of her - _flaws_ included.

 

And though he knows that he loves whenever she’s there in the crowd with him, sometimes she’s not. Sometimes she stays on the bus, or stays backstage. Sometimes it’s too much for her, the surroundings of hundreds or thousands of fans, and even though he only has his eyes on her, he realizes she’s not so much of an extrovert.

 

Emma’s the type to be laidback, and being at a concert, such a huge event with so much people, obviously drains her energy. Which, of course, he understands. Killian greets her later into the nights after the concerts, meet and greets, signings, and whatever else is on their plan according to David and Mary Margaret.

 

Oftentimes, he doesn’t even speak when he greets her after an exhausting night. He just kisses her and hugs her close, pressing his face in between her shoulder and neck, and often hearing a complaint of how he smells...which just causes him to burst out into a fit of laughter, that she soon follows into.

 

Gods above, he’s so in love with her.

 

.~.

 

It’s a particularly humid day, the weather warm and sticky. The others are out at some diner turned bar because they refused to stay in the bus for any longer. Killian said no, and Emma was much more interested in reading a book of hers.

 

They’re in the middle of nowhere, on their way to Florida, so it’s no surprise they’re all sweating like hell.

 

Killian watches her as she reads. She’s lounging so casually on the couch, her feet tucked underneath as she flips the page.

 

Her eyes meet his over the book, and he grins at her.

 

“What?”

 

He just quirks a brow in response. “I can’t watch you read?”

 

“It’s weird.”

 

“Would you prefer I leave?”

 

“No!” she exclaims. “You don’t need to _leave_. You’re the one who insisted on staying.”

 

Killian chuckles softly, shifting closer to her and then laying down, resting his head on her lap. “I insisted on staying because _you_ decided you wanted to stay.”

 

“Killian,” she groans, “if you’re staying just because of me, don’t do that. Have fun with your friends.”

 

Humming softly, he looks at her between her book. “I want to stay with you.”

 

“You know how cheesy you sound?”

 

He grins. Of course he knows how cheesy he sounds. He can’t help it when it comes to her - his cheesy levels just evolve to the strongest form.

 

.~.

 

That same night, it’s awful in bed. They’re sleeping in the same bed, his front to her back, his arm loosely over her waist, but the heat is killing them both.

 

Next time, they need some bloody _air conditioning_ that runs when the bus isn’t.

 

Emma tries to carefully and quietly slip out, but he refuses, not wanting to let her go. It may be disgusting and sticky, but he loves her and he sleeps his best when he’s got her by his side. It’s dumb, probably, but he gets the best rests with her.

 

“Don’t go,” he says softly, his breath brushing the back of her neck.

 

She sighs. “It’s hot.”

 

“I know,” he murmurs.

 

“You’re the worst.”

 

He grins against the back of her neck, kissing her there before he barely whispers, “I know.”

 

.~.

 

He’s gotten himself addicted to Instagram, and he honestly doesn’t hear the end of it.

 

Killian just thinks it’s probably a phase of his, but even time he takes a photo that he finds captures a great memory that he wants to definitely remember and reflect back on, he snaps a picture. And Emma, she’s not the fond one for photographs, but he finds that he manages to coax her into them here and there,

 

There are photos from every city they travel to around to. There are, however, more photos in relation with his love compared to anything else. He does love her smile, after all, and he loves capturing that. He loves their quiet moments. Sometimes he grabs himself a photo of her reading, nose in a book, or sometimes it’s her napping on the couch in the lounge, captioning it with ‘I think I fall in love with her a little more every day’.

 

Cheesy, still? Yes. He certainly doesn’t regret it, though.

 

A lot of his and the band’s following is on his Instagram the moment he made his account, and he doesn’t regret it. On some occasions, he’ll look at some comments and grin, showing Emma, and maybe responding if he feels up to it.

 

Robin and Will make fun of him just as much about his new found love with Instagram, but he shoots them both glares more often than not, which gets them to shut up.

 

When he has over 50 photos up in just a few weeks, at like 40 of them have to do with Emma.

 

Too late to fix that.

 

.~.

 

One show turned to ten, ten shows turned to fifteen, fifteen turned to twenty-one, and this is now their last show.

 

It’s a bittersweet to end the tour. They’ve been on a journey for quite a few months now, more than he could have ever asked for. The band blowing up to be so huge isn’t something he could have ever anticipated, not when he used to be awful with performing in front of audiences.

 

Now he does so for stadiums full of people.

 

And he cannot ask for a better girlfriend and supporter among all of this. Of course, she may not be at every show, but she’s there in spirit. Emma has his heart. He always knows she’s around, even if she isn’t _technically_ around.

 

Killian closes out with a special song, a newer song, written after his inspiration of understanding how this is love, how love _really_ feels like, at least for him.

 

He sings about the hardships he’s been through, but how he gets through them in the end.

 

And, sue him, but he keeps his eyes on Emma’s for most of the time.

 

“I want to thank everybody,” he says at the very end, his eyes looking around at the large audience. “You guys, of course, my mates here and our managers,” he continues, “but most of all…” He smiles brightly, connecting his gaze with hers, “I want to thank Emma.”

 

.~.

 

It’s obvious that she’s sad it’s over.

 

Killian drops his forehead to hers, fresh after a shower he took in the hotel washroom.

 

“I love you,” he murmurs quietly, his nose brushing against hers, his hand resting gently on her waist, fingers curled against her.

 

The way she smiles is bright and beautiful, the smiles he tries to bring out of her everyday. “I love you, too,” she responds.

 

The words warm his heart just as they always do, but it’s the way she says it so softly to him, the way she looks at him, or the way she feels against him.

 

“It’s over,” he eventually says after a bit of silence. “The tour is officially over.”

 

“Yeah,” she huffs.

 

Killian lets out a groan, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. After countless sleepless nights due to weather, or the small arguments here and there about trivial things with the band and Emma, it’s finally _over_. They’re due to head back home soon.

 

Well, Emma to Boston and he to Ireland.

 

That makes him frown.

 

The ring...he has a ring. It’s in one of his jackets that he hardly wears, not wanting Emma to find it. And God, he’s been wanting to propose for quite a few weeks now, but he’s scared that he’ll chase her off. Scared that she will feel like they’re rushing this.

 

“Hey, you okay?”

 

Snapping his head back, he searches her eyes, and he just smiles and nods at her. “Aye, just perfect.” Killian swallows. “But, bloody _hell_ , we’re done a tour!”

 

Emma raises her brows but laughs. “You are. It feels good, huh?”

 

“It’s an accomplished sort of feeling,” he explains. “It’s been quite a privilege.”

 

“Your music is good.”

 

“Just good?”

 

He anticipates her to roll her eyes, which she does.

 

All he does, though, is tackle her onto the hotel bed, which leads to them shedding clothes in the end.

 

It’s just a tangle of limbs, skin slick against each other’s as they fall asleep.

 

.~.

 

Morning comes quickly. He wakes to the sun, as usual, but Emma’s still fast asleep against him. He lets out a bit sigh, his fingers brushing lightly against her hip. Killian doesn’t dare want to wake her up from her slumber.

 

He looks over at his bag, that jacket with the ring...the sleeve is peeking out just slightly. He brought it with him just in case, and after his thoughts yesterday, he’s tempted to just do it today.

 

Emma shifts a bit, but she doesn’t wake, and his lips curl into a smile automatically.

 

God, he loves her so, so much. It’s overwhelming, but it’s a good type of overwhelming.

 

Slowly, he extracts himself out from beneath her, brushing a light kiss to her forehead and tucking the covers around her. Emma can sleep some more, that much he can allow her. The concert and everything after that ran for quite a while, almost all the way toward midnight.

 

And considering by the time they got back to the hotel, it was probably midnight...and they indulged in their activities after that.

 

So, they slept far after midnight.

 

Killian shakes his head, picking up his phone quietly and checking it. There’s a few messages, but nothing urgent. They have the day off before they got to get back onto the bus to head back. First stop is Boston, of course, and he doesn’t like the idea of leaving Emma behind yet.

 

Of course, he’d stay for a few days with her, but it certainly doesn’t mean that he can stay _forever_. He’d give up music for her, but Killian’s unsure of whether she’d allow that. Probably not, given how much she truly supports his passion. It’d be an awful suggestion. She’d kill him.

 

Not literally, but still.

 

Killian picks up their clothes. He finds himself a fresh pair of boxers and slips those on before he heads into the washroom, closing the door quietly behind him and flicking the lights on.

 

By the time he cleans himself up, slipping his way back out into the room, he finds Emma awake, rubbing her eyes. Her hair is an absolute mess, but he can blame himself for that. Killian tends to run his fingers through her hair a lot.

 

“Good morning, love,” he greets, smiling at her.

 

She grunts, and he laughs.

 

“Too early,” she says, stretching her arms, the sheets pooling down to her hips.

 

Raising an eyebrow, his eyes trail down her bare form. “Is it?” he questions, plunging his hand into his bag to get himself dressed into a new shirt and pants. “I woke earlier than you did, yet you’re the one complaining.”

 

“You always wake up early,” she states, tugging the covers back up and sliding back under them.

 

He chuckles, pulling his pants on. “You’ve a fair point, there. I figure it’s just my tour sleeping schedule.”

 

.~.

 

Sooner or later, he needs to ask her. He can’t possibly wait this out for so much longer…

 

It’s when they’re back in Boston, ready to drop the bus back where it came from and Emma, does he realize he really has no choice. It takes him forever to actually decide he’s going to do it. It’s funny how he can flirt with her so effortlessly, but when it comes down to popping this big question...he needs time to prepare.

 

A few hours of preparation turn to a few days, though.

 

They don’t really leave her apartment, which makes it difficult, but he somehow manages.

 

The best opportunity comes when she leaves for work one day. He tells Ruby about his plan, and she’s giddy over the phone, and he can’t help but laugh, albeit nervously.

 

Killian has everything set up.

 

The coffee shop, the place he’d had his first ‘date’ with her, was emptied out (technically, she saved his bloody arse that night). The owner of the place had been a nice woman who had refused any and all sorts of payment when he tried to compensate for taking her out of an evening’s business.

 

He left a letter for Emma back in her apartment, so all he has to do is wait.

 

The lights are turned off, there’s a candle lit, and he has his guitar.

 

He’s absolutely anxious that he pulls at the cuffs of his dress shirt at least thirty times.

 

When there’s a jingle and the sound of the door opening, he smiles widely. He just gets so happy whenever he sees her. Killian purses his lips, though, and then watches as she walks forward, confused over what he’s doing.

 

“What’s this all about?”

 

Shrugging, he tilts his head, a motion to tell her to come closer. “Sit.”

 

Emma furrows his brows a bit more, and he must say, she’s adorable when she’s all confused. He knows she’s not a big one for surprises, but it’s not like he _can’t_ surprise her.

 

When she sits, he starts to strum his guitar, and he get’s down on one knee, singing her a song about his love for her. Killian sings her their story, from beginning to...where they are now. The candle is the only thing illuminating the coffee shop since all the blinds have been pulled down against the large windows. While he sings, he can see her confusion, but he can see her love, too. It warms him so much to know she loves him.

 

At the end of the song, he takes his guitar off while still singing the last few lyrics, but he gets back down on one knee, a nervous smile on his face, as he tugs the box out of his pocket, opening it up.

 

“And will you marry me?” he sings, the last few words off pitch because he’s so worried about her response.

 

It’s so quick, the way she tugs him by the open collar of his dress shirt into a kiss, him smiling so widely, almost toppling the stool behind her over.

 

“So, is that a yes?” he breathes against her lips, his hand tight on the box.

 

“Yes,” she responds just as breathlessly. “Holy crap, _yes_.”

 

Killian laughs, a deep rumble of his chest as he drops his forehead against hers for just a moment before he removes the ring from the box, sliding it on with shaking fingers onto _her_ hand, which is shaking a bit as well. It’s a simple ring, really, nothing fancy about it. He’d bought it during the tour, having made his decision up, but he wanted the proposal to mean something a little more than in the middle of nowhere in a city where they had no real connections to.

 

He ends up kissing her again, feeling the ring press against the nape of his neck as he sighs against her mouth in contentment. All that anxiety of his disappears off his shoulders.

 

Resting his forehead against hers, their bodies pressed close together, he knows that there’s Emma is always going to be the one for him.

 

.~.

 

There’s a lot to discuss. They can’t possibly do a long distance marriage.

 

In the end, after some long, long discussions that last late into the night with the both of them passing out at some point, he decides with moving to the US. While he hates the idea of not being close to Liam, his heart lies in Emma’s hands.

 

He’d move across all the seas for her, if he had to.

 

(Plus, the band will benefit from this, too.)

 

The news is broken the next day, him telling the boys and the rest of the family.

 

For now, they keep the fans at bay. He wants to bask for a while in the engagement phase instead of everyone knowing that they’re officially going to get married.

 

 _Married_.

 

.~.

 

When they announce the marriage to the public, it blows up on the news. It dies down eventually, though, which he’s glad for. The last thing they need to concern themselves with is the public eye on such a milestone for them.

 

Planning a marriage is difficult, to say at the least. They decide to go back to Ireland for this, figuring it’d be easier, there for his side of the family. Ruby and Victor get to come along, of course. David and Mary Margaret, and then there’s Robin and Will, too.

 

It’s a smaller ceremony, but official nonetheless.

 

After countless hours of mulling over hundreds of decisions to make from clothing to food for months, it’s completely worth it when he stands there, watching her walk down the aisle with David at her side. She’s a beauty, as she always is, but she looks absolutely stunning in a white dress, a smile so bright that it’s like the sun on a hot day.

 

It feels like forever, but he says his vows about how he’ll never leave or give up on her, despite her stubborn self, and that he’ll always put her first, no matter how much he loves his music and the band.

 

She says how she knows she can be difficult, but how she’ll always try her hardest, and that - that’s _enough_. Emma states that she’ll always love him, that she’ll always support him, and it’s good enough for him. She’s good enough for him.

 

By the time they can _finally_ kiss, he’s swift with his actions, sliding his arms around her waist tightly and pressing his lips to hers in a desperate fashion, the sounds of cheering and clapping only in a distant volume. Being announced as husband and wife - well, he couldn’t ask for anything better in the world.

 

.~.

 

After the wedding is officially over, they get two weeks to themselves.

 

Two entire weeks on the Jolly, away from everything and everyone besides each other. It’s funny - he doesn’t get sick of her presence, ever. Killian finds that she feels much the same, which is good.

 

The breeze out is cold, but they bundle themselves up quite a bit whenever they’re up top. Often it’s to gaze at the stars and the sunset, both beautiful things they’re quite in love with. Not as much love as they are with each other, though.

 

“You know,” he murmurs, staring out at the horizon, “I was petrified of the idea of you saying no.”

 

“You thought I was gonna say no?”

 

He looks at her with his ‘are you kidding me?’ look. “Swan, we both know -”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, brushing it off. “I know. You know.”

 

Killian just grins at her, kissing the top of her head. “Besides,” he starts, “most people would be afraid of the other person saying no, no matter their circumstances.”

 

Emma leans her head back to look up at him, and he looks down at her in response. She just smiles softly at her, and he’s just so...so in _awe_. She turns in his arms, and he raises a brow at her, but she just pushes onto her tip-toes and brushes her lips against his, which he obviously responds to.

 

“I love you.”

 

With a small smile of his own, he tightens his arms around her, his eyes darting down to the hand on his chest, the ring bright against his dark clothes.

 

“I love you, too, Swan,” he says.

 

It’s probably as cheesy as romance can get, but his love for her is like the billions of stars in the sky. They all shine brightly, but just for her. His love for her is like the waves as well, sometimes gentle and soothing and other times loud and raging.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...there it is. That's the end! i hope that despite the long waits between the last few chapters, it was worth it. my muse isn't the most cooperative of them all, but to those who remained patient, thank you so, so much. this has been such a ride, and i love this universe. i'll admit that sometimes i feel like things are off here and there, but it's over now. it's complete. thank you guys all so much for coming along with me on this journey!


End file.
